Chapter 18 #2
“That’s unwise,” Ryan says, still watching Oliver intently. “And medically inadvisable.”
“Welcome to hockey,” Elliot says. “Where the injuries are real, and the teeth are optional.”
The period continues with both teams trading blows. I do my best to explain what’s happening—icing, offsides, power plays—while Ryan pretends he’s not tracking Oliver’s every move. Elliot occasionally shouts encouragement at Gerard, which thankfully doesn’t involve other massive body parts.
Gerard sets up a beautiful play, threading a pass through three defenders to find Drew nearby, who buries it in the net again.
“That’s my boyfriend!” I yell, then immediately want to crawl under my seat.
Drew skates by and points at me again, this time with both hands, framing me in a picture. The butterflies in my stomach do a jig.
“You’re both disgusting,” Elliot informs me. “And I mean that with love.”
“Also,” Ryan adds, having recovered some of his composure, “your boyfriend appears to be bleeding.”
I whip my head up to see Drew skating to the bench, helmet off, with blood trickling from his nose. My stomach drops. “When did that happen?”
“About thirty seconds ago,” Ryan says. “You were too busy covering your face with your gigantic hands to notice.”
I watch anxiously as the trainer examines Drew’s nose. It’s probably nothing—hockey players bleed all the time—but seeing red on his face makes something primitive and protective rear up in my chest.
“He’s fine,” Elliot says. “Gerard comes home bruised and bloody all the time. You get used to it.”
“That’s concerning,” Ryan observes.
“That’s hockey,” Elliot and I say in unison.
Drew’s back on the ice for his next shift, cotton shoved up one nostril but otherwise unaffected.
He wins another face-off and starts a rush that has the crowd on its feet.
The way he moves, even with a bloody nose and taking hits that would hospitalize normal humans, is beautiful and terrifying. I can’t look away.
The period ends with the Barracudas up 3-1, and I slump back in my seat, emotionally exhausted from riding every high and low.
“One more period,” Elliot says. “Think you’ll survive?”
“Ask me after,” I mutter, already dreading and anticipating the third period in equal measure.
Ryan, meanwhile, is craning his neck to watch Oliver head down the tunnel. “Do they all shower together?”
Elliot cackles. “And there it is.”
“I’m asking for anthropological reasons,” Ryan insists.
“Anthropological,” I repeat. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“I hate both of you,” Ryan says primly, but he’s fighting a smile.
The Jumbotron is now showing highlights from the period, including Gerard’s spectacular ass-plant. Elliot groans. “He’s never going to let me forget this.”
“Look at it this way,” I offer. “You’re a part of BSU history now.”
“I’d prefer to be a footnote,” Elliot grumbles, but he’s smiling too as Gerard’s fall plays on repeat from multiple angles.
“Does his ass ripple?” Ryan asks, squinting at the Jumbotron through his glasses.
“Indeed, it does,” Elliot sighs reverently.
Before I can vomit, my phone buzzes, distracting me.
Drew
Nice cheering, babe The guys think you’re gonna lose your voice by the third period.
Also, Kyle wants to know if you’re always this aggressive about penalties.
I stare at the texts, my brain short-circuiting on babe.
What’s the appropriate fake boyfriend response here?
“You’re overthinking,” Elliot says, reading over my shoulder. “Just text back like a normal person.”
“I don’t know how normal people text their boyfriends,” I hiss.
“You know how to text girlfriends, right?” Elliot stares at me inquisitively. Shit. Does he know?
“Sorry, you’re right. I’m overthinking.” Deflection is key here. Elliot is a genius. He could probably sniff the truth out faster than the Ice Queen, and he hates getting involved in other people’s drama.
But I’m not like other people. I’m his best friend.
God, I hate secrets. Nothing good ever comes from them. But I have to keep this to myself, for Drew.
“I need alcohol,” I announce.
“It’s a dry campus event,” Ryan reminds me.
“Then I need to leave.”
“You can’t leave.” Elliot grabs my jersey when I stand. “Drew’s boyfriend doesn’t abandon him mid-game. The Ice Queen would have a field day.”
I hate that he’s right. I slump back in my seat, trying not to think about how I have to do this for every home game. And probably away games. And practices. And team parties. And—
“You’re spiraling,” Ryan observes.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re tapping your foot like Thumper in Bambi.”
I force my leg to still and try to find some zen. It doesn’t work.
“How did you do it?” I ask Elliot. “Last semester, when everyone was watching you and Gerard?”
Elliot considers this, absently playing with the hem of Gerard’s jersey. “I focused on the fact that the scrutiny was temporary. The Ice Queen would move on eventually.”
“How long did that take for you again?”
“Well, let’s see. It all started in October, and her last post about us was right around Christmas.” He does the math on his fingers. “Almost three months.”
Three months would take us to April. To spring break and our planned amicable breakup.
Fuck.
The game ends with a 6-2 victory for the Barracudas. As the team does its victory lap, Drew breaks away from the group and skates over to our section. He pulls off his helmet, his hair a sweaty mess, and gestures for me to come down to the glass.
“Go,” Elliot says, shoving me. “This is perfect Ice Queen fodder.”
I grip the railing, my fingers pressing so hard against the metal that I lose feeling in my fingertips.
The concrete steps seem to tilt beneath me as I move down.
Someone whispers. A phone camera clicks.
Another person nudges their friend. The weight of their stares presses against my back, pushing me forward.
When I reach the glass, Drew presses his glove against it. I place my hand over his, and the cold barrier makes me shiver. Or is it Drew?
“Good game,” I rasp.
“I played for you,” he says, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.
My heart stops beating.
As if he knows what he’s doing to me, he winks seductively before skating away to rejoin his team, leaving me with my hand still pressed to the glass.
The crowd around me is losing its mind, but all I can think about is that I have no idea how I’m going to survive three more months of this.