Chapter 7
Bash
Saturday morning practices during the pre-season were non-mandatory. Bash was expected to be there as one of the captains. He and Robbie alternated bringing each other coffee every week. This week was Robbie’s turn. When Bash met him at the Rink, Robbie handed him a paper cup.
“Black coffee with two shots of espresso,” he said.
“Your mother is a saint,” Bash said.
“My mother chain smokes and bought lottery tickets with my allowance money.”
“I take back what I said. You look disheveled.”
“Good morning to you, too.” Robbie patted the back of his head self-consciously, flattening the unruly hair.
“You didn’t go home last night, did you?” Bash said conspiratorially as he buzzed them into the Rink with his student ID badge.
Robbie grinned sheepishly. “Spent the night with Clarisse.”
“Ah,” Bash said as they walked into the Rink’s lobby. Automatic lights turned on. “Was it fun? Were you a gentleman? Are you going to see her again?”
“Yes, yes, not sure yet, but hopefully,” Robbie said as they walked towards the locker rooms.
“Good. I want no other details about last night.”
Robbie laughed. “I know. Straight sex is gross and all that.”
“I did not say it is gross. I said I don’t want to hear about it.”
They quickly changed into their hockey gear and went to the ice.
It was smooth and freshly cleaned. They stepped on and began to skate some warm-up maneuvers.
They were an hour early for the non-mandatory practice.
As captains, they had to get there early anyway, and Bash had asked Robbie to help him get back into full shape for the games.
They ran drills and maneuvers until Bash felt his old skill coming back.
His shoulder was tender and still sore, and he knew he couldn’t push himself too hard.
The doctors told him he had had a type III AC joint separation.
Basically, in the NCAA Championship game last year, his shoulder had been royally fucked when he was knocked to the ice just before shooting what would’ve been a winning goal.
His injury had cost the team the championship and meant weeks in rehab.
Sometimes he still had nightmares of the nauseating, white-hot pain that had shot through his body when he hit the ice.
“What about you?” Robbie asked when they stopped for a water break before the other guys arrived.
“What?” Bash asked, not following.
“Have you had any action recently?”
“Sex?”
Robbie rolled his eyes. “Yes. Sex.”
“No.”
“Really?”
Bash capped his water bottle. “Is that so hard to believe? I can keep my cock in my pants.”
Robbie choked on his water. “I know you can. I just was wondering, if after Neil, you’d gotten back out there.”
Neil was a graduate student pursuing his M.D.
in physical therapy. He spent a lot of time working with student athletes, which was how Bash had met him.
They’d dated on and off for most of Bash’s junior year.
The sex had been pretty good, though not as adventurous as Bash preferred, and the romance hadn’t been there.
They’d broken up amicably a week before Bash’s injury.
Neil had been one of the PTs assigned to work with Bash in his recovery.
It had been awkward at times, but they both tried to be professional about it.
“No one since Neil,” Bash said. No one serious, at least. There had been plenty of hookups since Neil, including a delightful night when he was in Amsterdam for a week in the summer and had gone to Spijkerbar, stored his clothes in a locker, and fucked three different men in one night.
That was how Bash preferred his sexual liaisons: quick, hot, and anonymous.
Someday, he supposed, he’d want a relationship, but not yet.
He was twenty-two, and there would be plenty of time for that later, when he wasn’t in college.
If things went according to plan, he would join the NHL team, the Seattle Killer Whales, after graduation, and someday he could add a male partner to the gaggle of WAGs.
“What about Adonis?”
Bash slipped on the ice. “What about him?”
“Clarisse’s friend, the figure skater,” Robbie clarified, as if Bash didn’t know who he was talking about. “You know, he was there at trivia the other night.”
“Right,” Bash said. For a moment, he had thought Robbie somehow knew about the conversation Bash and Adonis had had in the locker room—a conversation that Bash hadn’t stopped thinking about, mostly because he couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful Adonis had looked.
“What about him?” Bash repeated.
“He’s cute,” Robbie said with a shrug.
“Okay. You sleep with him.”
“I prefer the feminine variety of partner.”
“Wow,” Bash said. “How unfortunate.”
“That is both rude and heterophobic. You and Adonis seemed to have chemistry,” Robbie said.
“Why? Because we are both gay?”
“No, because you seemed to have chemistry.”
Bash knew Robbie well enough not to trust Robbie’s judgment about chemistry between two respective romantic or sexual partners. He was the guy who thought any girl who looked his way had a crush on him.
“We did not have chemistry,” Bash said, though he didn’t fully believe those words himself. “We’re both just gay.”
“If you say so,” Robbie said. He couldn’t press the issue anymore, because the rest of the team was arriving.
——
Together, Bash and Robbie set up cones on the ice. Once all the players who had joined today’s practice were on the ice, they split into two groups. Bash led one group, working on edge work and skating control, while Robbie took the others to the far side of the ice to work on passing.
Cort was in Bash’s group. Bash was glad the freshman had joined the practice, even if Cort’s attitude during the drills made him dislike the freshman even more.
Cort was reckless on the ice, despite his considerable skill.
Whenever Bash tried to call out instructions, Cort insisted that he might not be doing it “Bash’s way,” but that he was still getting it.
When they stopped for a water break after thirty minutes, Bash conferred with Robbie.
“He is going to make me crazy,” Bash said.
“He reminds me of us as freshmen,” Robbie said, wiping sweat from his face. “He’s eager.”
“He’s an idiot,” Bash countered.
“You’re such a sweet and gentle mentor.”
Bash shot Robbie a look, then shouted instructions to the players. “Switch! Robbie’s group with me, my group with him.”
During the second half of the practice, Bash noticed that Cort was more receptive to Robbie. Robbie joked with him, and Cort responded to that well. He joked back and even did what Robbie asked.
Klootzak, Bash thought.
When they were done, Bash and Robbie showed the players brief recordings of their moves on their phones.
They’d propped their phones up on the boards to get footage of the action.
There was a lot to praise, but just as much to critique.
Robbie was gentler with his critiques, often framing them with compliments, while Bash went straight for the jugular with his feedback.
When it was time to talk to Cort, Cort spoke before Bash could. “I know, I know,” he said. “You’re gonna say that I did a great job.”
“No,” Bash said coolly. “I was going to say that you’re reckless and not a team player.
You’re an excellent skater, but you want to be a star, not a member of a team.
You will need to fix that.” He jabbed his finger at his phone screen.
“See here. Robbie tells you to pass. You don’t pass. You shoot instead.”
“I made the goal.”
“There is no goalie,” Bash said. “And making the goal was not the point. The point was to pass.”
Cort’s jaw clenched.
“Hit the showers, boys,” Robbie said. “Good practice.”
“Why do you say it was good when it was not good?” Bash said, frustrated, when the team had ambled to the locker rooms. Voices from the stands told him that they would have to surrender the ice soon—figure skaters were coming.
“They needed some encouragement,” Robbie said. “You ripped them to shreds.”
“I gave them honest feedback.”
“You can be honest and still be kind.”
Bash shook his head. “I will not coddle them.”
“I’m not coddling them. I’m being kind,” Robbie huffed.
“They will not get better that way.”
Robbie threw up his hands. “Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we?” He skated off, shaking his head in frustration.
Bash picked up the cones and then joined Robbie at the boards, where he was collapsing the tripod they had used for their phones.
“I’m sorry,” Bash said.
“I don’t think I heard you,” Robbie quipped.
Bash rolled his eyes. “You will not make me repeat it.”
Robbie tried and failed to hide a smile. “Okay. I forgive you. I’ll try to be more direct with my criticisms.”
“And I will try to be…nice,” Bash said.
“Don’t sound so excited about it.”
“I’m not excited about it.”
“It was sarcasm, Bash.”
Bash shrugged. “Okay. Look, it’s your girlfriend.”
Robbie dropped the tripod and almost fell on the ice while trying to pick it up. He popped up, red-faced. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Bash snickered. “Close enough. Look.” He nodded to where Clarisse was talking with a flock of other figure skaters. She glanced their way, saw Robbie, and offered a little wave.
Bash skated behind Robbie, quietly singing a Dutch love song and dodging dirty looks from his friend.
“Hi,” Robbie said when they reached the figure skaters. Clarisse’s friends giggled. Bash stopped behind Robbie and looked for Adonis in the group. He wasn’t there, and Bash felt a small bite of disappointment.
“Hi,” Clarisse said. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun, and she wore trim black workout clothes. Unlike Robbie, she didn’t look like she’d had a wild romp last night. “Did you guys destroy the ice for us?”
Robbie waved a hand at the ice. “How does it look?”
“Like it was mauled by hockey players.”
Bash tsked. “It’s not so bad.”
“Hi, Bash,” Clarisse said.
“Clarisse.”
“How’s your shoulder?”
He touched it. “Ready for bashing.”
“Wow,” Robbie said. “Was that a joke? What did you do with the Dutchman I know and love?”
“I make jokes,” Bash said, straight-faced. “I’m very funny.”
Clarisse laughed. “Are you two going to get out of our way, or do we need to fight you for the ice?”
“I’d like to see you try,” Robbie said.
Bash groaned loudly. “Stop flirting. Let’s go.”
Robbie and Clarisse both blushed while the other skaters laughed.
“See?” Bash said. “I make jokes. Let’s go.”
“Bye, Clarisse,” Robbie said as Bash dragged him away.
“Will you guys be at College Ice Con next weekend?” Clarisse called after them.
Every year at the start of the school year, the Collegiate Conference for Ice Sports met in Minneapolis to celebrate the top players from the different conferences in Division I hockey and the highest-performing figure skating clubs, and welcome rookies to their teams. Bash planned on going that year; Kurtzman had hinted that Bash might be getting an award.
“We’ll be there!” Robbie called over his shoulder.
Bash stopped on the ice and looked back at Clarisse. “You’ll be there?” he asked.
“Yes.” She cocked her head. Her expression was unreadable. It almost looked like playful defiance. She was challenging him to ask the question.
He wouldn’t let himself look weak by not asking. “And Adonis?” he continued. “He will be there?”
Clarisse looked like she was trying not to grin devilishly. “He will.”
Bash nodded once. “Good. Maybe we can find another trivia bar there.”
“I knew you liked him,” Robbie said when they left the ice and headed towards the locker room.
Bash didn’t spare a look for his co-captain and friend. “I will impale you on a hockey stick,” he said, but there was a slight bounce in his step as he walked on the rubber mats from the ice to the locker room.