Chapter Four #2
“No. Like…with me.”
He looked down and fiddled with the edge of his glove. “That’s … not a great idea.”
“Why not?” I asked too quickly.
He drew a long breath, as if weighing the answer. “Let’s just say, I try to keep work and everything else separate.”
“Is that a policy, or a personal rule?”
He met my gaze, dead-on. “Does it matter?”
Had I read him wrong? I thought I felt a vibe between us when our eyes met, but maybe I was wrong. I assumed he was gay or at least bisexual.
I shrugged, feeling the dull ache set in. “I guess not.”
Brody tossed his gloves and rubbed his knuckles together. “I appreciate the invite, though.”
“Sure,” I said, trying not to sound like an idiot. “No big deal.”
Sensing the change in my mood, he offered a smile. “It’s not anything to do with you, I just…”
“It’s okay, really. You don’t have to explain anything to me. I just recently came out, and I guess my gaydar is off,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.
Brody’s eyes grew wide. “You misunderstand. I am. I mean, I just don’t…”
He couldn’t get the words out, but somehow, I knew what he was saying.
He was gay, just not open about it. I wanted to tell him it was okay.
That he would find his support tribe to be there for him, just like I did.
But I didn’t. I learned the hard way: you can’t force someone to say it out loud. That’s their choice.
I waved my hands. “It’s really okay. I understand more than you know.”
He nodded, then motioned to my wrist. “Just take it easy, okay? You’re not here to impress anyone.”
But I was. I absolutely was. I wanted to impress my new team. But more importantly, deep down, I wanted to impress him.
He let me leave first; the door clicking shut behind me.
I walked the length of the corridor before the sting of rejection caught up. Not the worst I’d ever had, but not the best, either.
Out by the loading dock, Leo and Nash were waiting. Leo tossed me a protein bar. “How’s the hand?”
“I’ll live.”
Nash grinned. “We’re hitting up a small diner nearby. You in? Marcus, Sean, and Jack are coming, too.”
I thought about Brody’s hands, the way he’d almost said yes. “Rain check,” I said.
They shrugged and peeled off toward the parking lot.
I stared at my taped hand, flexed the fingers, and tried to picture what it would take to get Brody to say yes.
It probably involved breaking more than just my wrist.
***
That night, I lay on my mattress, left wrist throbbing, the rest of me alive with secondhand embarrassment and something that felt like hope.
I scrolled through my phone, finding some of my new teammates’ and the Stallions’ social media pages.
I read the fans’ comments, and then, because I was a glutton for punishment, I searched for Brody.
I found his Instagram page and began scrolling through his photos.
There were a lot of photos of the team, him and a beautiful woman with fiery red hair, and several cool shots of the outdoors.
He was smiling in every picture, and that made me smile.
I couldn’t help but think about Brody. Not just the way he’d said no, but the way his jaw tightened, how he looked like he wanted to say yes and was afraid of what would happen if he did.
I’d been there before, but never with someone who made me wish I was better at pretending.
I fell asleep that night with Brody’s face on my mind.
Morning brought a whole new set of aches, and my hand was puffed up like an overripe peach. I iced it, showered, and taped it myself, hissing through my teeth when the pressure hit bone. My appetite was dead, so I drank two protein shakes and called it breakfast.
At the rink, I expected the usual: cold shoulders, rumors, the kind of toxic bullshit that followed me everywhere. Instead, the first person I saw was Jack, who gave me a gentle punch to the biceps and said, “You doing okay, tough guy?”
“I’ll survive.”
Sean hovered behind him, eyes on my wrist. “Coach says you’re benched for the scrimmage.”
“Figures,” I huffed.
I was halfway to the weight room when Dylan crossed my path, his face as blank as a goalie mask. “No hard feelings, right?” he said.
“Right.” I tried to keep my voice even.
He waited, searching my face for something. When he didn’t find it, he shrugged and walked away.
I started my rehab set, low weight, high reps, sweat stinging the cut on my lip. I was halfway through a set of rows when Brody walked in, clipboard in hand. He stopped when he saw me, and I stopped too, letting the weight drop with a clank.
“You’re not supposed to be lifting yet,” he said.
“Yeah, but I heal fast.”
Brody shook his head, but didn’t leave. He stood on the other side of the room, watching me. I racked the weight, wiped my palms on my shorts.
A door slammed shut in the hallway. We both flinched. Brody turned, started to leave, but stopped. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came to the Stallions. I think the guys can learn a lot from you.”
I grinned, the pain in my wrist forgotten. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
He left, but it felt different this time, as if something was unfinished, but not unwelcome.
Back in the locker room, I found Nash and Leo playing cards on a towel. I sat with them, not to play, but to just be there. My hand ached. My head buzzed with every word Brody hadn’t said.
Later, when the rink was empty, and the lights were going dark, I walked a lap of the ice alone. I imagined Brody up in the trainer’s office, lights still on, maybe looking down. Maybe not.
I’d asked for a new start. I had no idea what to do with it.
But for once, I felt ready to try.