CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
J ason
The marble under my bare feet is cold and perfect, nothing like the sand that got between my toes for five days, and light streams from my floor-to-ceiling windows that do nothing to warm me. I collapse onto my leather sofa and wait for my breath to calm and happiness to fill my body.
It doesn’t. It’s impossible: there’s no happiness when there’s no Cal.
My phone rings, and I leap for it. Dad’s name flashes on the screen.
This is good. I don’t need to speak with Cal all the time. I spoke to him on the island. Cal is busy with his busy life, filled with people who care about him.
I answer the phone. “Hey, Dad.”
“Seems I should have taught you how to jet ski,” Dad says.
That’s probably a joke. I give a strained chuckle.
I wait for him to say he’s glad I’m alive or something, but he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t get how scary it was. I consider telling him, then think better about it. Why worry him? The last thing I need is regular jet skiing advice from him or something.
“I’m back in Boston now,” I say.
“Figured the news reports were accurate.” He pauses.
Oh, no.
“Seems you were stuck on that island with that pervert.”
I tense. “He’s not... Dad, you shouldn’t...” My chest tightens. “Please don’t use that language, Dad.”
I’m not saying enough. The words are lame.
“Sure, son,” Dad says. “Whatever you want.”
“Good.” I try to pretend this is a victory.
“Just don’t forget that his desires are unnatural,” Dad says. “Don’t want you being influenced badly. Like that time in high school you got curious and searched for—”
“Dad!” I plead. My cheeks burn. I’d hoped he’d forgotten about that. Of course, he hasn’t. I’d hoped his opinions had become more modern. Of course, they aren’t.
“Right, right, son.” Dad chuckles. “Got to remember I have a son who lives in Boston now.”
“And that being gay is perfectly natural.” I suck in some air, hating that my body thinks it’s in the last minutes of a tied game. “Or bisexual.”
Dad is silent.
My hands shake. The phone slips in my suddenly sweaty fingers.
“Is it though?” Dad asks.
I consider how long I’ve yearned to not have the feelings I have.
The effort seems silly now. Because even when we lay on the cold sand, the cold wind above us hardly a consolation for not having a blanket, my time with Cal was nicer than any intimate moments I’ve had with any other person. And why is that bad?
I jut out my jaw. “Same-sex attraction is perfectly natural. It can’t be wished away. And it shouldn’t be.”
This is where I could tell him everything. This is where I confess who I am. This is where...
“Let’s not get political, son,” Dad says. “I gotta go. Glad you’re okay. Why don’t you call Holberg and see if he’ll take you back early.”
And then, before I can say another word, he ends the call.
I stare at my phone.
Fuck.
I go to Cal’s profile picture on Facebook and click on it. His profile is filled with people commenting about how they miss him, how they hope he’s okay, how they’re so glad the news is reporting he’s been found.
I click away.
Of course, they love him.
If I’m honest...
I squash that thought away.
My emotions don’t matter. Cal knows where my apartment is.
I don’t deserve Cal. I was lucky I got to know him, however briefly.
Maybe Dad was right about something though.
I pick up my phone, fight away the sudden panic, and call Coach.
“Larvik?” Coach’s voice is bemused.
“I, uh, wanted to let you know I’m back in Boston. I know I’m still on leave. There might have been articles about me missing.”
A heavy sigh sounds on the other end of the line. Will Coach tell me they found someone else?
“I read those reports,” Coach says finally. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Thank you.” My voice is gruffer than I would like.
Discomfort drums against my chest, and maybe I shouldn’t ask the question I’m about to. “I know I’m still on leave. Can I come train with the Blizzards? I, uh, promise I won’t be any trouble. I’ve, uh, really thought about my actions, and I feel terrible.”
Coach is silent.
Shit.
I pressed for too much. I asked for what I shouldn’t.
“I suppose there wasn’t a lot of exercise equipment on the island,” Coach says.
“No.”
“Okay, Jason. Come on down tomorrow. Tanaka wants you back.”
“Can I come now?”
Coach sighs. “Sure.”
I grab my things and head for the arena.
Finally, I reach the locker room. The other guys must be training on the ice, and I change quickly, then join them.
No one rushes to me. There’s no celebratory banner, and no one flings glitter. There’s not a single we’re-so-glad-you’re-alive sign.
But everyone notices my return.
Heads turn to me. Troy doesn’t block a puck from Noah, and it sails into the net.
“Jason has requested to join our training,” Coach Holberg announces. “He has permission.”
The other guys avert their gazes, and the air heavies with their unhappiness.
They still blame me for Dmitri’s departure, I’m sure.
Finally, Evan skates toward me. “Welcome back, Larvik. Glad you’re safe.”
He extends his fist out, bro-man style, and I bump it.
He grins.
No one else does. Vinnie glares from a corner, likes he’s a leopard poised to leap on me and dismantle me bite by bite should he deem my behavior bad.
“Were you really lost on a tropical island?” Noah asks.
“Yes.”
“That must have sucked,” Finn says.
I nod.
The others continue to eye me.
I hate it.
“I have something to say,” I announce.
The others flick their gazes around. Some of them have queasy expressions on their faces.
“Sure,” Coach says. “Just don’t take too long. This is practice.”
“Right. Of course.” I nod too many times.
Everyone continues to stare at me, and heat prickles the back of my neck.
“I’m sorry,” I finally stutter out. “I’m so sorry.”
Some gazes soften. Others harden.
I’m not acting particularly reassuring that I’m good for this team.
I gulp in some air.
It’s fine. This is my team.
But I wish when I looked out over my teammates that Cal was there.
“I behaved poorly,” I say. “Atrociously, actually. I wasn’t acting like myself. I promise I’ll change.”
I don’t think I’ve convinced them. I don’t give inspirational speeches like teachers in nineties’ movies. There’s no feel-good score to back up my words, only slightly bemused faces.
I get some nods though.
“Okay, thanks, Jason.” Coach Holberg claps his hands. “Let’s get back to work!”
And with that, I join my team.
I clutch my stick. This is what I dreamed about. I should feel good. And it’s not that I don’t, it’s not that I’m not super grateful, it’s just I want to tell Cal.
I scan the arena for a face that won’t appear. That goddamn boa constrictor is back again, and I struggle to push down the sudden lump rising in my throat.
Because I’m back from the island, and here, in Boston, Cal has his own life. I need to bury the memories of Cal and what we had and what we were and try to let go of the future we might have had, if only.