Chapter 23 James
Hovering by the entry opposite Coach Harris, I fight with all my might to keep my face neutral. This kid, and I use the term affectionately, this fucking kid amazes me. Pride is blooming where it has no absolutely zero right to bloom, as are other emotions I dare not probe too deeply.
I know he’s dumbing this down by saying it’s nothing to wear the thick glasses and fluffy hair, but to me and every other kid that was bullied and shrank themselves down because of it, coming out not only as gay, but as the real Cory, before a group of young men that are part of a community known for past toxic traits, is a feat of Herculean magnitude.
Voice steady and calm. Face teetering on the edge of green, he speaks from the heart.
Perhaps Brady and Troye had already greased the wheel, but this is an almost entirely new team to the one they came out to last season.
Even so, fresh faces and old, sit and listen to their captain reveal the real him.
“I know it may seem weird for some of you, but I just want to remind you that I am still me, the same guy who washed cars with you last week, who consistently beats your sorry asses in speed races, and can check you into the boards as hard as a guy twice my size. Oh, and finally, please don’t worry about me hitting on you, ‘cause you’re all ugly as fuck and I wouldn’t touch any of you even if we were the last men on earth. ”
Smelly socks, tape balls and anything else within reach rains down over Cory, who’s taking a bow on the bench in front of his stall. The whole team, bar a moody looking Hoffman, joins in.
It’s entirely too adorable, and I resign myself to smile.
“That boy grossly underestimates his likableness, and ability to lead,” Harris says, pride evident in his tone. “He’ll be a NHL captain one day.”
“You don’t think the gay thing will hinder him?”
David crosses his arms over his chest, eyes suspicious. “No, but I take it you do?”
“I think we both know the pro hockey world isn’t always pro-pride.”
“True, but guys like that punk Becker are laying the foundations. Maybe Cory can be the one to cement the change.”
For some reason I find myself matching Harris’ pose. Arms crossed over chest, right foot over left. “You know what, I think you might be right. If anyone can do it. Cory can.”
Watching as his team embraces him one by one, I get a little misty-eyed, and the fluttering of my heart has me roughly clearing my throat and standing like there’s a stick up my ass.
Like they’ve all just scored the winning goal, they empty out of the room, fist bumping Coach and I as they go.
Cory is last, the grin on his face full and deserved.
Coach follows the team leaving Cory and I to walk down the chute side by side.
“Ya did good, Cubby. Take it easy on the ice, okay. It’s your first skate. Work into it slowly.”
“Sure thing, Doc.”
Hitting the ice, the smirk-wink combo he tosses me over his shoulder is damn near pornographic. Pity I can’t kiss it off his face the way my lips are tingling to do.
As though he’d missed a day, not three weeks, Cory glides effortlessly towards the goals, slowing to give his young goalies a helmet tap, before continuing his warm up laps.
He really is the most talented skater I’ve seen, edge work I could only dream of and a burst of speed as impressive as anyone in the NHL.
It’s his eyes that have my gut twisting, though.
Pure joy lighting the navy blue to glittering turquoise.
Brady appears at my side, expression as solemn as I’ve seen. “You shouldn’t look so sad watching someone have so much fun. Do you miss it?”
My stock standard answer is there, ready to roll off my tongue.
But after what Cubby just did… “For years I rarely thought about it. But now … yeah, Yeah, I do.” I look down at my soft belly and give it a tap.
“I think my body does, too.” One look at the down turn of his lips, and I know the answer to my question before I’ve asked it. “What about you?”
“Shit yeah. Every day I wake up and look forward to practice. Then I remember. Sometimes I think the Docs may have got it wrong, ‘cause I feel so good.” He smiles. “But later that night after hours under the lights here or at Green Line, my head hurts so bad I can hardly open my eyes. I loved hockey, but I love Quinny and Troye more. One more game isn’t worth the risk.”
“You’re a lucky man. Some of us never find the perfect person for us, and you found two of them.”
“It’s because of the troll.” He nods, face serious despite the pink haired troll he’s just pulled from his pocket and shoved in my face. “Princess Poppy is my good luck charm. I wouldn’t have them if it wasn’t for her. Maybe you should get one. Might help you find Mr. Right.”
My eyes immediately find Cory who’s on the opposite side of the rink, head tossed back in laughter. A bubble of something indescribable inflates in my chest. If things were different. I think before catching myself.
“I don’t think I need any help with that.”
“Not interested, or already found him?”
Giving him a nudge, I turn from Brady and head back to my office. “More … not going to happen.”
“They’re not all so easy, you know.”
“Easy? I never said he was easy. Who said he was easy? I never said he was easy.” Yeah. Not feeling guilty at all.
“James, chill. I didn’t mean to imply you hadn’t worked hard on him. The way he relaxes for you and doesn’t fight it, is great. He’s always been so tight for me. He’s almost the perfect patient for you.”
Jesus Christ. Play dumb. Play dumb.
“Who are we talking about?”
Coach White, assistant coach, my supervisor who could finish my career before it starts, laughs and nudges me with his bony elbow. “You know, you seemed pretty uptight when you started, but you’re a funny guy. Maybe that’s why the boys respond to you.”
“No, you were right, I am uptight. Boring as fuck too, and not much of a people person to be honest.”
“What ever you say, Plummy.”
“Not you …” He’s off, chuckling to himself before I can bin this damn Plummy thing. I should think myself lucky. For the third time today I have been caught watching Cory. I have to get my shit together.
“I see you watching me, Doc,” Cory chirps, before taking off like he’s on wheels, puck on the end of his blade and he switches between fore and backhand, wrong foots two defense men and taps the puck between Larsson’s pads.
What a freaking show off.
“Filthy shot!” Brady hollers from behind the net, before positioning himself next to his goalie. “Nice moves, Captain.”
Nice indeed.
Thoroughly annoyed with myself, and the fact that seemingly everyone in a ten mile radius is in the mood for conversation, I abandon the rink and head to the close confines of my office.
This thing with Cory is spiraling out of control as rapidly as he can pick up speed on the ice.
On first meeting any feelings I had for him were neatly contained below the belt, but their gradual descent up is …
not okay. I can’t shut him out and avoid him.
Can’t be with him in any romantic sense and definitely can’t let things get physical again.
I also can’t deny that I like him as a person and feel, I hate to say it, happy when I’m with him.
I haven’t had much of that in recent years and I’m not particularly interested in letting it slip through my hands.
A further five people stop me on the way back to solitude, so once I’ve grabbed a soda from the closest vending machine, I close the door and collapse back into my chair, more than a little peopled out and ready to return to my basement and weighted blanket.
Tomorrow is day at home with Dylan, which means we have our usual routine to stick to.
Park in the morning. Snack time when we get home.
Maybe then some art, music ‘til lunch, another re-watch of Hairspray, before an afternoon walk and dinner prep. Once Faith gets home it will be eating, bathing, Dyl’s bed routine, then lumbering down the stairs and collapsing into my own.
Though hardly thrilling, the comfort of knowing what to expect in my day is as soothing to Dyl as it is to me.
Had you told me that a day mostly alone with my brother would be a comfort, not an overwhelming burden of responsibility, I’d have never believed it.
Unless we have a bad day. Though, there have been less of those since Manny was back on board, but still it’s me and I am not the …
paternal not the word. Adequate? I need to find a word for not up to Dad’s standards.
The man was a saint. Something I am not, nor will ever be. Even Faith comes closer than me, and she is what many have described as colder than a polar bear’s asshole.
Feeling kind of sweaty, anxious and short of breath, I rub my hand over my chest. “Not a fish. Not a fish.”
To compliment my breathing, I open my laptop in search of distraction. Perhaps the monotony of paperwork will stave off an imminent panic attack or unexpected heart failure.
I hope.
Instead of digging into course paperwork like I need too, find myself opening a blank word document and titling it—
Pros and Cons of life rafts.
Cons
Age of ship.
Conflict of interest between ship and ship owner
Ships heading in different directions
This sailor’s unsuccessful navigation of past stormy seas
After staring at the flashing cursor for twenty minutes, I move on.
Pros
Everything, other than above.
“Fuck. I am so fucked.”
This is getting me no where. But I still don’t feel like doing any work.
Fanfiction time.
It’s been weeks since I’ve loaded a new chapter onto Wattpad. Perhaps some superhero smut will clear the cobwebs, so to speak. The chapter was particularly spicy, the first time sex between Spidey and Hulk.
Sipping from my Pepsi I read the last few paragraphs, just to reacquaint myself. It’s stock standard for the most part. Well, as stock standard as what is essentially copyright infringing porn can be.
“You should take that suit off, Peter. Let me see what lies beneath.”
Quivering, Spider-Man tears his suit from his body, and throws himself against Hulk’s massive frame, running his hands up and down the wide expanse of his muscular back, climbing him like a tree to taste his lips and whisper,
“I want to straddle your thick neck. Watch you suck my dick while you go town on my nipples ‘til I blow my load all over that furry green chest. Then, I’ll return the favor.”
Holy shit.
Clearing my desk in a single leap, I don’t run, so much as sprint from my office back out onto the rink, my internal maniacal laughter suppressed only because of where I am.
Two things happen simultaneously as I approach.
One: Coach blows his whistle and announces the end of practice. Two: Cory turns and our eyes lock.
“What?” he mouths, gaze shifting between my eyes and the stupid grin I can’t conceal as he skates closer.
“Malkovich,” I say as gruffly as I can. “I need to check the strapping on that shoulder. See how it held up.”
“Sure thing.” He nods to Lucas and Sam who trail closely behind him, then steps off the ice and follows me through the rabbits’ warren of barren corridors to the treatment room. Facing the door as it clicks shut, I feel Cory’s warm breath on my neck.
“Do you for-reals need to check my shoulder, or was this just a ruse to get me alone.”
“If you don’t want me to call you kid, never say for-reals again.”
He huffs a laugh, steps closer and places a kiss to the back of my neck. Turning to face him, I place my hand on his chest pads and push him back towards the bed. “You’ve been a naughty boy, Cory. You need to be punished.”
“What did I do?” There’s a slight panic in his voice I find disturbingly hot.
“Hmm, I’m not sure if I can trust you. Perhaps I need to see the real you. I think you should take that suit off and let me see what lies beneath.”
Cory is by no means stupid, but I swear to the God of Thunder I can hear his brain chewing the words. Eyes alight with mischief and hunger, slowly dull as he finally digests it.
“Wait.”