Chapter 16 Gus
GUS
This was it. The Bears were one win away from the regional semifinals. We just had to eke out a win against Northwestern, and no, this wasn’t going to be easy.
I banged my fist on my locker to get my teammates’ attention for my pregame speech.
“I’ll keep this short and sweet. I don’t want to mess with anyone’s routine.
Brady, finish putting your socks on, bro.
And Benson, your tape work is killer. Give Ty a few pointers.
His looks like shit.” I waited for Brady and Ty to flash the bird, and the accompanying snickers and jeers to die down before continuing.
“We got this, Bears. Northwestern is tough, but we’re tougher.
They’re strong, but we’re stronger. This is our rink, our home, and we fuckin’ want this for our school, our town.
Let’s give it everything we got. Leave it all on the ice. Do we got this, Bears?”
The room rumbled with a ground-shaking, “Hell, yes!”
I nodded in approval and held my stick out. My teammates circled me, tapping their sticks to mine. “On three…Bears!”
Someone counted, “One!”
Someone else counted, “Two!”
“Three!”
Every single hockey player on our roster yelled in unison, “Bears!”
My ears rang, and pride swelled in my chest. I’d never been one for navel-gazing, but with every win came the harsh realization that this might be the last time I stood in this locker room with this group of guys.
It was enough to make me feel a little emotional, but I’d save that for later. We had a game to win.
The first period was a clusterfuck of inane mistakes, missed passes, and terrible shots on goal. Miraculously, I wasn’t one of the worst offenders. In fact, I was playing decent hockey. I even drew a penalty that gave us a brief advantage.
Unfortunately, we couldn’t turn it into a score.
Northwestern had immobilized our biggest threat, double-teaming Ty and making it impossible to get the puck to him.
We had to rely on Brady, Regan, and God help us…
me. Needless to say, we were tied at zero till the middle of the second period when Northwestern’s star forward deked around me, then Pritchard, faked a pass, then proceeded to bury the puck in the net.
Coach called an immediate line change. I was sure he was going to skewer me with his patented “Don’t be a dumbass” glare as I stepped onto the rubber mat, but Coach’s lips twitched at one corner.
“Keep it up, Langley. We need your energy out there.”
I wasn’t sure what to think of that. I flopped onto the bench, sucking down water as I scanned the crowd. I spotted Walker and his friend, Robin, cheering like maniacs. Ty’s folks were here, and Jett and Malcolm, and…Rafe.
He didn’t bother pretending to watch the game. He was staring at me, and the moment he realized he’d been caught, I could have sworn I saw his blush from across the arena. He was with his friends, no sign of Eli. Thank fuck.
Just Celine, Jackson, and the girl who always reminded me that her name was spelled with an i. I never had the heart to tell her I’d forgotten her name again. Which was odd, ’cause she was a pretty girl, vivacious, and fun, and she stood out in a crowd.
Rafe, on the other hand, seemed to do whatever he could to blend in, and yet, I’d never been more aware of anyone in my life.
He’d come to other games in the past, but everything felt different somehow. We’d shared some pretty significant trauma, bonded over groceries and reruns of Dr. Who, and damn, we’d had some incredible sex.
Side “sex” note: This morning Rafe had clutched the bathroom counter, swiping at the steam fogging the mirror from the shower while I’d fucked him from behind. No condom. We’d been tested for our sports within a day of each other and had quickly connected the dots.
Well…Rafe had.
“If we don’t have sex with other people, we don’t have to use them,” he’d explained, fiddling with his glasses, his gaze trained on his cell. “To clarify…I haven’t had relations with anyone but you and I don’t intend to, but if you want—”
“I don’t. And you don’t have to clarify anything. It’s the same for me.”
“Oh. Okay. If you change your mind or you meet someone and—”
“I won’t.”
Rafe had frowned. “You don’t know that.”
“Shut up, Johannsen. I’m watching this show, and you’re ruinin’ it for me.”
That was it. He’d dropped the subject and soon after, we’d retired to his room to see what sex without a condom felt like. For the record…it was a-fucking-mazing.
Using condoms had been so ingrained in me that even in my messiest, drunkest state I wouldn’t forget to suit up.
I could probably trace that fear directly to familial disapproval.
My mom would have flipped her damn lid if my brothers or me had made her a grandmother out of wedlock.
And yes, she still used words like wedlock.
Rafe was my first. To feel him with no barrier between us was extremely intimate.
Weird observation since having your dick in someone’s ass was the definition of an intimate exchange.
A little naked writhing mixed with shared personal experiences had catapulted us into something resembling a relationship.
Not the lasting, hearts and flowers kind, but it was still pretty fucking cool.
Coach bellowed for another line change, jolting me into action.
The third period started out promising. Northwestern was getting sloppy, which led to a couple of power plays.
Unfortunately, we couldn’t score to save our lives.
Our shots flew wide, hit the bar, or in one case, careened against the glass.
I did my best to shore up any gaps in defense and make myself available on offense, but I wasn’t sure I helped.
With two minutes left on the clock, we had our best opportunity yet.
Ty stole the puck on a breakaway and went screaming down the right lane for the goal.
I skated behind him, ready if he needed me.
The low left corner was the goalie’s weak spot.
On a one-on-one situation, he’d go right.
I didn’t have to tell Ty. He was better at reading the opponent than anyone. He knew what he had to do.
The rink echoed with raucous cheering, and I’d bet big money every single person here was on their feet as Ty pulled his stick back and took his best shot. The puck ricocheted off the goalie’s pads and hit my stick.
Now it was all me. There was no time to think. I was surrounded on all sides. I flicked it in for a one-timer and hoped for the best—and boom! The lamp lit and baby, we had our first goal of the night!
My teammates whooped, tapping my helmet and my stick, cheering my name along with everyone in Smithton.
“Lang-ley, Lang-ley, Lang-ley…”
I hammed it up, skating the perimeter of the rink with my arms raised, soaking up the love. And if my grin got a little out of control when I got to Rafe’s section, well…that couldn’t be helped.
Sadly, my goal wasn’t enough to win it. We needed one more and we didn’t pull it off. Northwestern won the shoot-out and moved on to the next round.
Smithton’s season was officially over and I’d just played my final game as a college athlete.
I braced for a wave of panic, fear, or melancholy, very aware of my unmedicated state.
I’d been sober for a month, dealing with everyday bullshit with a plastic smile and teeth clenched.
Okay, lately it hadn’t been so bad, thanks to Rafe.
But it was still an ongoing struggle, and I expected big feelings to unmoor my unsteady grip. Disappointment, devastation.
But I was okay.
I hugged my teammates, gave conciliatory shoulder rubs, and geared up to give a postgame pep talk. This couldn’t be my ordinary “win some, lose some, let’s get wrecked” spiel. After everything we’d been through, I owed it to them to put a little thought into my words. Hell, I owed it to myself.
Once everyone had gathered in the locker room in varying states of undress, I whistled to get their attention.
“Yo, listen up. That was a tough loss. I get it. I know we all wish this was our year to win the championship, and it’s hard knowing we came close,” I began, tugging at the towel draped around my neck.
“Aren’t you supposed to be making us feel better, Cap?” some smartass griped without heat.
I waited for the strained laughter to peter out. “I don’t know…maybe I am, but I think it’s more important to list a few facts. Some of you will be back next season, some of you will play while you’re stackin’ up another degree in grad school, and one of us is goin’ to the pros.”
“Go, Ty!”
I tossed my towel at Ty, chuckling as our teammates chanted his name, the smiles returning to their faces.
“Yo, dingdongs. I’m not done here.” I plucked at my sweat-stained jersey to give my hands something to do and continued. “For some of us, like me, this is it. Am I sad? Yeah, I wish I could stay at Smithton indefinitely. Fuck knows I’ve tried.”
“Captain for life!”
“Sounds sweet,” I admitted. “I think it’s time to pass the baton and move on. I don’t want to get too serious, but I want you to know that playing with you all has been a fucking honor. You’re good people, great teammates, and I’m damn lucky to call you my friends.”
“Lang-ley, Lang-ley, Lang-ley!”
I pumped a fist in the air, and yelled at the top of my lungs, “Bears on three!”
“One!”
“Two!”
“Three!”
“Bears!”
We took the celebration…or commiseration party to Vincento’s. It seemed as if the entire town showed up for pizza, weak beer, and garlic balls. Vincento Junior and Senior personally greeted the hockey team, set us up with the best tables in the house, and treated us like kings.
I kept an eye out for Rafe while I revisited highlights from the game with my friends.
I thought I spotted him at the front of the restaurant, but when I looked again, he was gone.
That was okay. I had to be present tonight.
I sipped Coke, ate my body weight in greasy pizza, and reveled in the sense of community.