Chapter 33
33
ELLIOT
J ackson looks like death warmed over; his ordinarily sun-kissed skin is now pale, and his brown eyes are glassy with fever.
“Hey, Elliot.” His voice is extremely hoarse, and it pains me to hear it. “How was your trip?”
“It was…interesting,” I say, trying to find the right word to describe the whirlwind that was Thanksgiving with Gerard’s family. “How are you holding up?”
Jackson groans and flops back against his pillows. “This flu is kicking my ass.”
I frown in concern. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I wish I could be there to take care of you.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Ryan has been playing nurse. He even made me ramen noodle soup.”
The way Jackson says it makes it sound as if his roommate is some master chef. “Well, I’m glad your roommate is there to take care of you since you won’t let me.”
“I told you, I don’t want you to miss out on any of your classes.” Jackson coughs, and I wince. “Speaking of, how are they going? ”
“They’re going alright.” I settle back against my spot on the couch. “I think I’m ready for the semester to be over, though.”
“Only a couple more weeks, and then we’ll have a month off to do whatever the hell we want.”
“You’re telling me. Drew has a countdown calendar on the fridge.” At the mention of Drew’s name, the tips of Jackson’s ears turn an adorable shade of pink. Interesting . “Has Drew been checking in on you at all? Making sure you’re still alive? You guys have gotten pretty friendly lately.”
Jackson ducks his head, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread on his comforter. “Um, yeah. He’s texted a few times. Even offered to bring me some of his mom’s famous pot roast.”
He flashes me a bashful smile that speaks volumes. There’s definitely something brewing there. I open my mouth, ready to prod further, when the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs captures my attention.
Kyle appears in the doorway, his face a ball of fury. He shakes with barely contained rage, and his hands are clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides.
“Uh oh,” Jackson murmurs, his face filling up my entire phone screen as he tries to peer into the room through it. “Sounds like someone pissed in Kyle’s Wheaties this morning.”
“You can say that again,” I mutter under my breath. Louder, I say, “I’ll text you later.”
“No worries, man. Go deal with the Kyle situation.”
“Feel better, okay? And don’t forget to hydrate!” I remind him.
“Yes, Mom,” Jackson snarks, rolling his eyes fondly. “Now go. Before Kyle puts his fist through a wall or something.”
I end the call and toss my phone aside, bracing myself for the impending storm that is Kyle Graham on a rampage. This should be fun. “Hey, Kyle. What’s going on?”
Kyle’s eyes flash with annoyance, and he runs a hand through his messy hair. “I needed to be at the arena fifteen minutes ago, but Alex still isn’t ready. He’s taking forever with his stupid skincare routine.”
I raise an eyebrow and picture the delicate, porcelain-doll-like Alex meticulously applying moisturizers to his face. It’s not a stretch of the imagination. “Okay…what do you need from me?”
Kyle’s gaze zeroes in on me, fiery and pleading all at once. “I was hoping you could give Alex a ride to the arena. I know it’s last minute, but I’m desperate here. Just because the coach is Alex’s dad doesn’t mean he’ll let things slide for me.”
I blink, taken aback by the request. “Uh, sure. I mean, I would, but there’s one small problem.” I pause, waiting for the realization to dawn on Kyle’s face. When it doesn’t, I sigh and spell it out for him. “I don’t have a car.”
For a moment, Kyle looks ready to explode. He takes a deep breath and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. He tosses them to me, and I fumble to catch them. “Take mine. I’ll call an Uber.”
I stare down at the keys in my hand. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Just make sure Alex gets there in one piece, okay? And don’t let him mess with the radio. He has terrible taste in music.”
“Got it. No letting Alex fondle your shit.”
Kyle grunts in acknowledgment, either not noticing or ignoring my attempt at a double entendre, and disappears out the front door, leaving me alone in the living room again.
I’ve never been a chauffeur, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything. I hope Alex doesn’t mind being driven around by someone who hasn’t driven a car in years.
Sighing, I push myself off the couch and mentally prepare for the task ahead. Giving Alex a ride to the arena shouldn’t be too tricky, right? It’s not as if I’m transporting precious cargo or anything.
Famous last words, Elliot. Famous last words.
Kyle’s keys jingle in my hand as I walk out to his car. A sense of impending doom settles heavily in my gut. They say to listen to your gut, and right now, it’s yelling at me loudly. Because Kyle’s car, his pride and joy, his baby, isn’t an ordinary sports car. It’s a fucking stick shift.
Alex steps out of the house, his red hair perfectly styled and his delicate features set in a mask of determination. When he sees me freaking out, he blanches. “Please tell me you know how to drive that thing.”
“Uh, sure. I mean, how hard can it be, right? You just…shift gears and stuff. Right?”
Alex stares at me as if I’ve grown a second head. “It’s not that simple.”
“So, you’ve done it?”
Alex’s lips twist into a grimace. “No. Kyle was supposed to teach me, but we never got around to it. He’s always busy with hockey, school, and…other stuff.”
I raise an eyebrow at that last part but decide not to press the issue. We have bigger problems right now, like getting Alex to the arena without totaling Kyle’s car. “Okay, well, we’ll have to figure it out as we go.”
We climb into the car, Alex in the passenger seat and me behind the wheel. I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart, and after a few tries, the engine finally roars to life.
I press my foot on the clutch and shift into what I hope is first gear. The car lurches forward, and I yelp in surprise, slamming on the brakes. We jerk to a stop, and Alex lets out a tiny squeak of fear.
“Sorry, sorry,” I mutter, face reddening already. “Let me try that again.”
I ease off the clutch and try again. The car moves an inch before sputtering and stalling like an asthmatic smoker trying to run a marathon. Oh God, we’re going to die.
This car is a metal coffin on wheels, and I’m the Grim Reaper.
I try again , easing my foot off the clutch with the precision of a brain surgeon. The car bucks like an enraged bull, and I hit the brakes again . Alex’s palms slap the dashboard, and I cringe.
“Maybe we should call an Uber,” he suggests, his voice shaking. “And a tow truck. And an ambulance—to be safe.”
“I can do this,” I insist, even as doubt coils in my gut. “Just give me a minute.”
I take a deep breath, trying to channel my inner Formula One driver. I visualize myself as Lewis Hamilton, full of confidence and charm. I tell myself that I am one with the car; it is an extension of my body, and I am the master of the manual transmission. But deep down, I know I’m full of shit.
I curse under my breath when we barely move again. My forehead beads with sweat, and my armpits smell riper than an apple that’s been sitting out in the sun too long.
This is a nightmare. A horrible, humiliating nightmare.
“So…did you see the Thanksgiving post from the Ice Queen?” His voice is full of fake cheer, and it momentarily distracts me from my impending automotive doom.
“Uh, no. What did she say?”
“That she might be moving on from writing about Gerard. Apparently, he threatened to pull his consent for her to write about him.”
“What?! Why would he do that?”
“Because she was putting you on the map, and it was clear you weren’t happy about it.”
“Wow. Gerard never told me.”
“He probably didn’t want to worry you.” Alex shrugs. “So, now she’s thinking about focusing on someone new.”
I frown, intrigued despite myself. “Who do you think it’ll be?”
Alex taps his chin thoughtfully. “My money’s on Drew. He’s got that whole chauvinistic horndog thing going on. Plus, have you seen his jawline? It could cut glass.”
“My bet’s on Oliver. He’s got that whole ‘boy next door with a secret kinky side’ vibe. ”
Alex considers this, nodding slowly. “Ooh, good point. Oliver does have that Britney Spears, ‘not that innocent’ thing.”
I choke on a laugh. “Do you think she’d ever write about Kyle?”
Alex’s expression turns contemplative, and he stares out the window. Campus buildings crawl by at a snail’s pace as I struggle to get Kyle’s demonic car into second gear. “No, I don’t think the Ice Queen would ever write about Kyle. He’s not her type.”
I glance over at him, surprised by the hint of melancholy in his voice. “What do you mean? Kyle’s a hockey stud. He’s got that whole brooding, intense thing going on. The Ice Queen’s readers would eat that shit up.”
Alex shakes his head. “Kyle’s not interested in being anyone’s muse. He’s too focused on hockey and his classes to care about some silly blog.”
I frown, sensing there’s more to it than that. “You sound…disappointed.”
His cheeks turn a delicate pink, and he glances down, suddenly fascinated by his hands in his lap. “No, it’s just—I think Kyle deserves to be appreciated, that’s all. He works so hard, and he’s such an amazing person. He’s kind and loyal and has the biggest heart of anyone I know.”
And then it hits me. “Oh my God. You like Kyle.”
Alex’s blush deepens to a vivid scarlet, and he bites his lower lip, still avoiding my gaze. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who’s been there,” I say gently.
He finally looks up at me, his hazel eyes filled with unshed tears. “But Kyle will never like me that way. I’m just his best friend. His sidekick. The little brother he never had.”
My heart clenches at the pain in his voice. I want to reach out and hug him. Tell him that everything will be okay. But I can’t do that without risking a fiery crash, so I settle for words of encouragement instead.
“Never say never, Alex. I never thought Gerard would give me the time of day, but here we are. Sometimes, the most unlikely pairings are the most perfect.”
Alex sniffles and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “You think so?”
“I know so. Don’t give up on Kyle. He might surprise you.”
Alex nods. “Thanks, Elliot. You’re a good friend.”
“Anytime, Alex. Now, let’s see if we can get this beast to the arena without killing ourselves in the process.”
We make it to Infinity Arena midway through the second period. Our seats are right behind the home team’s bench, where Kyle sits. I vaguely remember Gerard telling me Kyle’s backup signed with the New York Rangers, and Coach Donovan wanted to give the new guy some ice time. But glancing at the score, something tells me that was probably a bad idea.
Kyle whips around the second my ass hits the seat. Even through his helmet, I can see the fury blazing in his eyes. He presses his gloved hands against the glass and hisses, “Where the hell have you two been? The game’s half over!” He shifts his gaze to Alex, and his expression softens. He checks him over, making sure he’s not injured or distressed. “Are you okay?”
Alex’s cheeks flush under the intensity of Kyle’s stare. “I’m fine, Kyle. We just had some trouble getting here.”
Kyle turns back to me, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What kind of trouble?”
I clear my throat, suddenly wishing I was already dead. “Well, you see, you failed to mention that your car is a stick shift.”
Kyle’s eyes widen, and for a moment, I swear I see fear. “My car. Is it…is it in one piece?”
I grimace, recalling the grinding gears and the sputtering engine. “Barely. We made it here, but it was touch and go for a while. ”
If Kyle were a cartoon, steam would be pouring out of his ears right now. He takes a deep breath to calm himself, but I can tell it’s a losing battle.
“You mean to tell me,” he growls, his voice dangerously low, “that you drove my car—that I spent weeks working on—without knowing how to handle it?”
“In my defense, you failed to give me pertinent information. And it’s not as if I had much of a choice. Alex needed to get here, and you weren’t willing to risk his father’s wrath.”
Kyle glances at Alex, guilt written all over his face. He knows he should have been the one to drive Alex, but his dedication to the team and his stubborn pride got in the way.
“I’m sorry, Alex.” His gruff voice is barely audible over the roar of the crowd as Drew scores, tying things up. “I should have been there for you.”
“It’s okay, Kyle,” Alex whispers, staring at the floor. “I understand. The team needed you.”
Kyle shakes his head, his expression pained. “You needed me too. And I fucked up.”
“It’s fine. I’m just glad we made it in time to see some of the game.”
Kyle nods, his gaze lingering on Alex for a moment longer before he turns around to face the ice. Alex might think Kyle could never see him the way he sees Kyle, but I’m not so sure. The way Kyle looked at him, the concern in his voice, and the guilt in his eyes suggest something deeper than friendship.
It reminds me of how I felt about Gerard before we got together. It was as if an invisible string was pulling us closer and closer until we couldn’t deny the inevitable any longer.
I glance over at Alex, noting the expression on his face as he watches Kyle on the bench. His eyes are full of longing, and a pang of sympathy shoots through me.
On paper, Gerard and I couldn’t be more different. He’s a hockey god, and I’m a bookish nerd. He’s outgoing and charismatic, and I’m introverted and awkward. But somehow, we’ve found each other, thanks to a missing hockey stick. And now, I can’t imagine my life without him.
So, who’s to say the same can’t happen for Kyle and Alex? Who’s to say that their friendship can’t blossom into something more, something beautiful and life-changing?
I’m pulled from my musings by Coach Donovan’s booming voice. “Graham! You’re in. Patterson’s done for the night.”
Kyle nods, his jaw set with determination as he skates onto the ice. The crowd cheers as he takes his position in front of the net.
Oliver wins the face-off, sending the puck to Gerard, who takes off like a bat out of hell. His powerful strides eat up the ice as he weaves through the opposing team’s defense.
My heart is in my throat as I watch him move. He’s a blur of speed and grace, and I find it incredibly hot.
Around me, the crowd is on their feet, screaming his name, but he doesn’t hear them. He’s in the zone, focused entirely on making a shot on goal.
As he approaches the net, the goalie drops into a butterfly stance, ready to make the save. But Gerard is one step ahead.
He fakes a shot, catching the goalie off guard. And in that split second of hesitation, Gerard shoots for real and sends the puck whizzing into the net.
The red light flashes, and the place erupts into chants of “Barracudas” as they cheer on Gunnarson the Great for putting us in the lead.
As for me, I’m cheering on my boyfriend—Gerard Anthony Gunnarson.