Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Vaseline Filter
ELI
Goddamn, it was quiet in my house.
I didn’t like that. I was used to either having Ben around to talk to if the silence got too heavy or I’d put on some random YouTube video on the TV just so I could have background noise.
Sometimes that was a hockey game, sometimes it was an eight-hour-long city walk through some place I’ve never been to, or a tutorial video on a new photography technique.
I was a man of varied tastes.
But my television still wasn’t hooked up. The mount broke, and I hadn’t gotten around to ordering a new one.
So I slumped back into my couch and stared at the plain white wall in silence.
…which lasted about five seconds before I stood up and decided to busy myself with unpacking some boxes and decorating the house.
I didn’t have all that much in terms of decorations.
I had a few paintings—random shit I’d bought at Marshalls—and a couple of nice lamps and pots I’d gotten in the breakup.
Ben had been the one with the talent at interior decorating and pretty much took control of putting together our entire apartment.
It was very apparent when all I had to pack in terms of household items as I was leaving was a random cookbook I’d never even opened and a couple holiday decorations.
And if I had been aware of my lack of belongings, he was sure to remind me of that when we were breaking up. Even though he’d been the asshole who betrayed my trust, I was apparently the one who was losing it all because I’d never had anything to contribute to our relationship.
He had made me believe that was the reason he’d been seeing someone else.
Because I wasn’t enough for him.
The man I loved. The man who’d been my everything. The one I trusted, and cared for, and strived to be better for.
The man who would reward me with physical affection. And who would punish me with the lack thereof.
So many sides to him. All of them hurt me. The good sides to him hurt me with their absence, and the bad sides hurt me with the memories.
And now, this damn silence was hurting me by amplifying all my negative thoughts.
I pulled out my phone from the pocket of my sweats and opened up my music app, hitting Shuffle and setting it down on the arm of the couch. I grabbed my laptop sitting on the coffee table and sat back down. I went straight to Google and looked up things to do around town this weekend.
A pleasantly surprising number of options appeared.
I clicked on the website for the local newspaper and found a ton of different events were happening.
There were paint and sips, pottery courses, nature walks, a Lake Champlain Pond Hockey event (which looked fun, but it was already too late for me to register), and a… oh, interesting.
There was a photography meet-up happening at a coffee shop in the downtown area. It advertised a space for hobbyists and professionals to come together and talk shop, make connections, and then go off in groups to use what we learned together.
It was an open event. No registration required. They didn’t even require you to own a camera, just have a love for photography.
I happened to have both.
My camera was the second thing I’d unpacked when I moved, my hockey sticks being the first. I had stumbled on it pretty much by accident.
It was in high school, and I needed to take one more elective.
I originally wanted to take the strength training class with some of my buddies, but that was full, so they gave me my second option, which I had picked at random.
I didn’t know what to expect but immediately realized I’d found something special.
We had a darkroom for developing film, and I remembered feeling like those red lights and the methodical process of developing my photos offered me an escape from whatever was stressing me at the time.
Another contributing factor to my love for photography was my professor, Gary DeCampo, an animated man who traveled around the world photographing everything from top models in front of the Louvre to a pride of lions prowling the African savanna.
There, my plans were set, then. It would be a good reason to get out of the house and a great way to find some community here.
First, though, I had to get out of my sweats.
I went and showered, still listening to my music, and finished getting ready.
As I was getting in my car, I got the idea to text Chris from the team.
All the guys seemed chill, but Chris felt the friendliest toward me right from the start.
I had no idea if he was even into photography like I was, but maybe he’d still want to hang regardless.
ELI: Hey man, this is random but I’m heading to this photography meet-up. It’s at The Grind coffee shop. Want to meet me there and then grab a beer at the bar across the street?
Why does this feel so weird.
I wasn’t exactly the most social of butterflies. I had always either kept a small circle or been fine on my own for some short periods of time. Then Ben came into my life like a blackhole and sucked in everyone around me, leaving basically only him.
Even my connections with previous teammates had suffered. I wouldn’t hang out after practice as often, and I’d miss team dinners and outings because Ben either wanted me home with him or at his side at whatever business event he needed to be at.
It fucking sucked.
So even if I had to push outside of my comfort zone to make friends in Burlington, then damn it, I’d do it.
CHRIS: That sounds fun… I’ll be there. Dylan’s with me… we were at the gym. Mind if he comes?
ELI: Yeah of course! See you guys soon.
CHRIS: See you…
I chuckled and wanted to bring up the ominous ellipse usage but figured it was just Chris’s way of texting.
I pulled out of my driveway and started down the tree-lined road that wound through my neighborhood.
Most of the houses were all set against a thick backdrop of trees.
The winter chill had stripped them of most of their leaves, but I knew that come springtime, it would serve as a beautiful background.
The proximity to nature was what I liked most about making the move to Burlington.
Well, that and the proximity to hot and slightly mysterious men named Gabriel Sanderson.
I couldn’t get him out of my head. Not since first meeting him. It was the weirdest thing. I was even dreaming about the guy. And these were dreams that seemed to have been painted in Technicolor, with sensory details that felt so real I would wake up sure that I was still in his arms.
And yet I’d had to keep it completely chill when I was around him during the last few practices.
I’d sneak glances at him, and I’d listen in on some of his conversations, just to get to know him a little more, but I never really partook.
And if I was brought into the conversation, he would casually drift off.
Almost like he couldn’t be in the same space as me.
There was also the fact that he was apparently very straight. He hadn’t been tied publicly to any women from what I could tell, but there had been hints of romantic relationships in the locker room banter.
And yet…
I stopped at a red light and reached for my phone. I’d gotten his number through the group text Dylan had added me to (which he had also called Bobcat Baddies).
I hovered my thumb over Gabe’s name.
Should I invite him to this?
I wanted to see him outside of his gear again, experience him in a more casual setting.
He made me so damn curious. Maybe we could end up being good friends?
Maybe that was the oddly intense tug I felt toward him?
It could also be a good opportunity for me to get some more intel on Gabe’s dating life.
Then again… why was I even thinking about any of that? I had just moved to a new city, to play on a new team, after breaking up with an old love; the last thing I needed was a fresh source of complications and drama. That was exactly what messing around with Gabe would bring.
Nope. Couldn’t do that. I needed to focus on myself and on making sure I proved myself out on the ice.
No distractions.
I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat and continued on my way.
The Grind wasn’t very far from my house.
Took me less than ten minutes before I was pulling up to a parking spot right in front of the coffee shop.
It was a cute spot, with a varnished dark wooden facade and a cluster of green ivy climbing up the side, creeping toward the hanging black and gold painted mug with the coffee shop’s name scrawled across it.
A rainbow flag waved in the air right above a trans flag.
Through the two wide windows, I could see a group of people gathered around multiple tables.
From down the street, I spotted Dylan and Chris walking toward me, both wearing similar brown leather jackets and white t-shirts. They’d match completely if Dylan hadn’t been in black jeans and Chris in blue.
“’Sup, man,” Dylan said, clapping my hand with his and bringing me in for a hug. Chris did the same. One of them wore a really good cologne.
Not as good as Gabe’s though…
“Thanks for coming to this, guys.”
Chris waved a hand in the air. “I like these kinds of things. Meeting new people that are passionate. It’s fun for me.”
“And I’ve been wanting to learn,” Dylan added. He pulled out his bright orange and scratched up phone and waved it in the air. “I can barely take a photo with my phone.”
“That’s because you never clean your lens,” Chris said.
“You have to clean your lens? That’s a thing?”
Chris narrowed his eyes at him. “That’s why all your Instagram posts look like you applied a Vaseline filter to them.”
“Huh,” Dylan said. “I thought that was just like an upload thing or something.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “Nope. It’s definitely because you need to wipe down that lens.”
“See, I’m already learning something, and we’re not even inside.” He flipped his white baseball cap back and reached for the door, opening it.
“Thanks,” I said, already glad I had invited them to join.
The smooth scent of freshly ground coffee filled the space as I entered, along with something else. Something deeper, more… piney? Like the woods after a long rain.
I looked around to see if someone had put up a Christmas tree a couple months early.
To my right was a table with a check-in sheet, which I assumed would be the first stop. But then I glanced to my left.
Frozen. My muscles became stiff with shock. Like a damn opossum.
I found myself turned to stone by the tall man with the dark scruffy beard in a Bobcats hoodie, his sky-blue eyes piercing through me as if his gaze had been made of arrows.
Bullseye.
“Oh, hey, Gabe,” Dylan said as he walked past me to greet his friend.