12. CONNOR
TWELVE
CONNOR
I’m having a bit of a crisis.
Not only the identity crisis but another kind. And it has to do with the man sitting next to me on this plane.
I wasn’t lying when I said my offer to be his friend wasn’t a pity offer. If anything, asking him to be my friend was asking for him to take pity on me.
Still, there’s only one reason I hesitated to sit next to him when I saw he was on the plane, and it has nothing to do with being friends. It’s because something happened after our talk.
That night in bed, I thought it was a random, horny moment where I happened to be thinking about Parker separately to my needy dick.
Yet, when I woke up hard again and reached for my dick, I thought of the night before, which only made me think of Parker again, and that weirdness settled over me again.
Especially when I went with it. Again.
I’d jerked off while thinking about Parker Duchene. Douche from high school. Technically, the person who now owns me and my career.
It’s confusing. And mildly annoying. Because I can’t figure it out. Just like I can’t figure out who I am underneath everything.
Twenty-six-year-olds are supposed to have their shit figured out, aren’t they? If it wasn’t obvious before, it is now. I know nothing about myself.
Hence, sitting next to Parker on this plane.
Because it would be easy to ignore what I did last night, stay away from Parker, and turn my genuine offer to be friends into the empty gesture he thought it was, but if I do that, I’m still going to be in the same place mentally in a year from now. Confused, lost, with absolutely no self-awareness.
So here I am, not only wondering what last night was about but also curious if it’s going to happen again.
It’s entirely possible I’m reading into it. He said things that got to me. Like putting the seed of possibility in my head that, as he said, maybe I’m not into women.
I wasn’t offended that he suggested it. I just thought out of everything I knew about myself, my sexuality was the one thing that was solid.
Apparently not.
Not that I’m flipping a switch now or suddenly into dudes. Or Parker. But I’m questioning everything.
Especially when Parker reaches over and puts a hand on my knee. For a second, I’m taken aback because what the fuck? Are my thoughts coming out loud?
But when I turn my head to ask him, he’s glaring at me.
I take my earbuds out, and he takes his hand off my knee and moves his headphones to sit around his neck.
“Why are you so edgy?” he asks.
“Edgy?”
“Your knee hasn’t stopped bouncing, and with all the respect I have for you, if you don’t stop, I will throw you off this plane.”
I laugh.
“It’s cute you think I’m joking,” he grumbles .
A few days ago, him saying I’m cute would’ve probably put me on edge. It still does, but not for the same reason. I let it sink in before testing something.
“It’s cute you think I don’t believe you.” Was that … weird? Was it flirty? Am I flirting with a man?
I don’t think so.
Flirting is more overt. This is me replying with a common phrase that he said first.
I think. I shrug it off. “I was laughing that you think saying, ‘With all the respect you have for me,’ when we both know that bar is not high.”
Parker smiles. “True. I almost went with ‘all the love in my heart’ but didn’t think it held a credible threat when … yeah, reasons.”
“You could’ve said hate. All the hate in your heart.”
“Unfortunately for you, I can’t say I have any of that anymore. Bitterness? Yes, but hatred? Nah, I’ll save that for people who deserve it.”
“I wish I could say I didn’t deserve it.” How long is this guilt going to hang around? I want it to go away already.
“Maybe a little,” Parker says.
“Hey, you were supposed to say, ‘No, no, you’ve proved you’re a totally okay guy now you’re not a dickish teenager,’ and make me feel better about myself.”
“Will I ever win with you?”
I dunno. I’d say he’s winning at something when it comes to me. I just haven’t figured it out yet.
The usual buzz I get on the ice isn’t there tonight. The thrill is replaced with something else. And it’s not so much a bad thing, but where I usually love the competitiveness, the need for a win, and the glory of being one half of the high-scoring Kiki brothers, there’s only one person I’m trying to impress, and I can feel his stare on me from wherever he’s watching tonight. Perhaps the owner’s box, even though we’re away, or just a random suite. Either way, I know he’s watching.
And it does something to me. Pushes me harder. Like if I can bring in a win for his team, then he’ll … like me? Forgive me more?
There has to be some kind of logic in there somewhere. Deep down.
It’s really weird to think that the only person I can confide in about the personality transformation is the kid everyone picked on in high school. It’s weird to even consider him my friend. But the Parker who was in high school and present Parker are different people. Or maybe they’re the same person, but no one gave him a chance back then because of how he looked. And because maybe I didn’t consider what one little nickname could do to someone.
I need to make that up to Parker. I need to be the person I should have been back then. That must be why I’m doing this and why I’ve had more shots on goal tonight than a defenseman usually would.
Instead of setting up Easton to score as per usual, I keep sending slappers toward New York’s goalie. But after numerous failed attempts, I should give up and do what I do best: make my little brother look good. The only thing is, I might not know myself well, but I do know I’m stubborn enough to not give up until I get at least one.
And in the next moment, my stubbornness pays off.
Our lamp lights up, and I score.
Fuck, yes.
I’m pulled off the ice from another shift, and after we take our seats on the back bench and pour water down our throats, another D-man, Hastel, taps the back of my helmet with his glove.
“You’re thirsty for it tonight.” And no, he’s not talking about the water .
“Need to bring up my scoring stats,” I say.
“Do you though? Your assist records are the best on the team, and that’s including any of the forwards.”
Easton’s line is pulled off, and he sits on the bench in front of us, so I speak up loud enough for him to hear.
“Maybe I’m sick of letting my brother take all the spotlight.” As soon as I say that, I hold my breath. I’m joking, and it’s reflex to say shit like that, but with how rocky our relationship has been, I’m scared he thinks I might be putting him down or?—
He turns and smiles at me. “It’s about time you started pulling your weight when it comes to scoring. Just saying. Leaving it up to me all the time is exhausting.”
I want to pat his head and tell him I love him, but in front of the team and where we potentially have cameras trained on us, I won’t embarrass him like that. Look at me, I’m learning!
Things might be strained at the moment, but neither of us can say we don’t want to get our close bond back.
From my goal, for the rest of my game, I go back to play as usual, and thanks to me, Easton gets one in the net, and so does Munter.
Leaving the ice with a three-point game puts me on a high, and when we reach the locker room and go through interviews, I’m tapped for the press conference. So is East. And we’re put on that panel side by side. Because of course.
“Easton, your big brother beat you to the first goal of the night. What do you think about that?” Of course that’s the first question.
“With how much he was hogging the puck, statistically, he was bound to get one. So, good for him? I guess?”
Everyone in the room snickers.
“Connor, you did take more shots on goal tonight than you have in the entire season. Is this a new game strategy?” someone else asks .
“I was just feeling it tonight. My gut was telling me it would pay off.”
And then comes the real question—what the last two reporters were trying to get to but were more subtle. “So the change of play had nothing to do with the rift between you two?”
Seriously, anytime Easton and I have been put in front of the media since our fight during training camp, this comes up.
Easton answers for me. “Everyone asks us that like we’re going to change our response. Brothers disagree. We’ve moved on, and everyone else should do the same.”
It might be true that Easton has moved on, but I sure haven’t.
But I will. Eventually. When I work out how to turn my life upright again. When everything makes sense and I no longer have this divide inside me, pulling me in two different directions. There’s the man I used to be, the man I want to be, and then in the middle, there’s me. In limbo.