Chapter 20 Rafe
RAFE
Apologies weren’t my forte, but I was giving this one everything I had.
“I’m sorry for the late notice. I hate to inconvenience you or—”
“Rafe. It’s all right,” Walker intercepted. “But I have questions.”
I perched on the edge of the sofa and adjusted my earbuds. “Okay. Shoot.”
“Did you and Eli break up?”
“No.”
“So you’re still together and—”
“No.”
Walker went quiet on the line. “Taking a break?”
“No.”
“What’s the other choice?”
“We’re not a couple,” I admitted. “We never were. We went on one date. That’s it. Everything else has been…not exactly true.”
“Ahh, okay.”
“I’m sorry. This is…unsavory and terrible, and you probably think I’m such an idiot and an asshole, but—”
“I don’t think that at all.” He paused for a moment. “Hey, would you be interested in doing a solo interview?”
Solo.
“Uh…on my own?”
“It doesn’t have to be now, but I’d love to put something on the calendar.
Figure skating doesn’t get enough love. I’m happy to include Eli too with a different angle.
‘Two rivals who tried to date. Alas, their love couldn’t survive the pressures of competition.
’ Or something like that. Think about it and get back to me. ”
Triple Lutz, triple toe-loop, flawless landing. Smooth combinations, smooth transitions, smooth turns. I was on fire, so in the zone that it took a few seconds for me to rejoin reality as I glided off the ice and wobbled onto the rubber mats.
A petite woman with pointy features tossed a towel at me, then gesticulated wildly, mimicking a deeper stretch of fingertips.
Nadia was a former figure skating champion from Romania and one of the Smithton coaches who specialized in technique training and choreography. “Bravo. This was good. Very good.”
“Thanks.” I smiled absently as I wiped my brow.
“I am proud of you, Rafe. You improve every day. This is what you must do to become great.” She patted my cheek, which required standing on her toes. “Again tomorrow, yes?”
I nodded, though I should have consulted my calendar.
The extra hours at the rink were wreaking havoc with my classes.
I had one more paper to finish before graduation, and I was running out of time.
But I’d figure out a way to do it all. I had to.
This was my shot and now that I finally had momentum on my side, I didn’t dare slow down.
“See you tomorrow.”
Nadia spun to leave and bumped into Eli. She gave him the same pat on the cheek and beamed between us. “My two best men. This team has promise. I tell Boris this every day now. Every day.”
Eli gave her a high five and sat next to me on the bench. “You talked to Walker?”
It was an accusatory statement, not a question.
“Yes. If you want to do the interview as rivals, he’s fine with that. Personally, I’d rather concentrate on training and forget about it.”
“Are you joking?” he growled. “We had a deal.”
“It wasn’t a deal. It was a loose suggestion that snowballed into a distraction that neither of us needs.”
“Is that so? It seems like you just made us look like a couple of fucking fools.”
“That’s not what I intended. I’m sorry.”
“I doubt it. If you’d just said you’re with the hockey player we could have played it differently.”
I blanched. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, please. I know something is going on with you and Langley.” Eli’s voice carried.
I glanced at the rink and froze.
Oh, no. We had an audience.
Our curious teammates seemingly stopped skating at once as if straining to overhear the conversation.
Kelsi, Celine, Jackson, Isabella…and the coaches, too. Oh, my God.
My face was scorching. All eyes were on us. There was no music playing on the speakers, no conversation, no laughter. This was a show and they didn’t want to miss a thing.
“Wh-what’s that supposed to mean?” I sputtered. “He’s not my—we’re not…”
“Don’t lie, Rafe. Seems like awkward timing for a new high school hockey coach to publicly introduce a boyfriend. I wonder if the incoming parents know.”
“That’s not funny,” I hissed.
Kelsi approached, her ponytail cascading over her shoulder, brow furrowed in confusion. “You and Gus? I thought you were just roommates.”
“No, they’re fuck buddies,” Eli snapped. “Good fucking luck with that, Rafe. Gus is a party boy and he’ll be done with your ass by graduation. Hope you’re happy.”
With that parting shot, he skated away.
Celine hurried to my side, shooing curious bystanders off like flies. “Oh, honey. What was that?”
“I blew our cover.” I tugged off my left skate with my head down.
She frowned. “And he really thinks you and Gus are a couple?”
“I guess,” I rasped.
“Well, don’t you dare tell anyone it’s not true. Let them sweat it out. Eli especially. He deserves it.”
“I don’t know. I agreed to his stupid idea, remember?”
“Yeah, but desperate times, desperate measures.” She slid a pack of gum out of her bag and offered me a stick.
I fiddled with the wrapper. “Or…play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”
“Maybe so. But now, you have the better routine, and you’re nailing every jump and twist and spin like a boss.
Even as a fake boyfriend, Eli was never going to be happy for you when you made that roster…
no matter what club he ended up with. Let them think Gus is your man.
He shows up, cheers you on, and genuinely wants you to succeed.
I’d rather have a real friend than a fake boyfriend any day. ”
I toed off my other skate, swallowing around a well of emotion, but Celine had moved on. Something about the tights she’d ordered, and would I mind if she checked in my bag for her missing glove?
She was right.
Gus was real. He cared. His support was genuine, no hidden games, no agenda.
I hummed along, my mind whirling faster than I could catch up. And did any of it matter? In a few short weeks, Gus would be here and I’d be in Pittsburgh or Syracuse or…somewhere else. Life would go on, and this clusterfuck would feel like a dream.
Just a dream.
Gus was in the kitchen, humming off-key to a Beastie Boys classic barely audible above the buzz of the blender and the sizzle of onions sautéing on the stove.
The beat-up table we drank coffee at each morning was set for two with two plates, two bowls, napkins, silverware, and a single candle flickering in the center.
I was pretty sure the only candles we owned were from the emergency kit in the event we lost power during a storm, but I couldn’t deny that it looked inviting and that whatever he was making smelled delicious.
“What are you—”
Gus jumped in surprise, knocking the blender off its base and adjusting the volume on the portable speaker. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Rafey. What’re you doing sneaking up on me? And why are you home?”
“I wasn’t sneaking. I live here. Remember?”
“Yeah, well…don’t look. Just…” He motioned me toward the table. “Sit.”
I obeyed, my gaze flitting to the vase of sunflowers on the counter.
“Are those for me?” I asked, my voice raw with uneasy emotions.
Gus fidgeted with his collar and shrugged. “You still like sunflowers, right?”
“Yes, I love them. I—”
“Yeah, yeah, but you’re not supposed to see them yet. It was a surprise.”
“Ahh. Should I close my eyes?”
“Definitely. You’re going to be like that for a solid twenty minutes, though. Then the sauce is ’sposed to simmer for another thirty minutes.” Gus kissed my nose. “Want a blindfold?”
“No.” I smiled in spite of my off mood. “What if I promise not to peek at…whatever you’re making?”
He sighed theatrically. “Fine. It’s pasta with homemade pesto. I called my mom for the recipe.”
I hopped off the chair and met him at the stove, ignoring his exasperated growl. “You did? Is everything okay?”
Gus flashed his signature lopsided grin. “Yeah. She called to talk some sense into me. I let her vent for a while and once she’d run out of steam, I asked for the recipe. Disarming your opponent is Hockey 101, right?”
“If you say so.”
“I say so. Try this.” He held a spoon to my lips. “Be honest. Too much garlic? I can add basil.”
“No, it’s amazing just as it is.”
“Sweet.” Gus licked his fingers and moved to the stove. “I’m making a flatbread too with jammy tomatoes, crispy onions, and cheese. That’s the part that’ll take the longest. You have time to shower if you want.”
“Okay. This is…wow. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble.” And made a bit of a mess too, but catharsis was rarely neat and tidy. “You must have had a good conversation.”
He pushed the onions with a wooden spoon, sliding a quick glance at me. “Not really. She still thinks I’m confused and immature, and I didn’t want to hear it, but pesto sort of made it better.”
“How?”
Another shrug. “I don’t want to be shut out and stuck in the family sin bin forever. Pesto was my olive branch. My way of letting her know I still want her opinion and advice, but…not on everything.”
My eyes stung with unshed tears. How did he do it? How could he be so unapologetically himself while intuitively managing the expectations of others? He fought a private battle and I knew it wasn’t easy, but Gus was a warrior. Pain was second nature.
“That’s pretty smart,” I said in a gravelly tone.
He turned off the burner with a frown. “You okay?”
I crossed my arms and leaned on the counter. “Yes, I…um, my short program is coming together, I skated well, and with any luck, I’ll find out if I made the team in the next day or two.”
Gus tapped his temple. “I fuckin’ call it now. It’s happening.”
My lips curled in amusement, but I sobered quickly and blurted, “Eli was pissed that I backed out of the interview. He sort of spiraled and insinuated that he knew there was something between me and you. He wasn’t quiet about it, so now my whole team thinks I cheated on him with you.
And he made a crack about wondering how Smithton High hockey players and their parents would react if they knew their incoming coach was queer.
Those weren’t his exact words, but that’s the gist. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.
I figured you should know in case someone asks if you’re… with me.”
He cocked his head curiously and snickered. “Hang on a sec. You’re fucking with my flatbread. The dough is temperamental. It has to be the perfect temp, or it sticks to your fingers.”
I frowned. “Did you hear me?”
“I did. Some douche wants to use me to throw you off your game, and you were about to let him. Tsk tsk, Johannsen. You should know better than that,” Gus scolded, motioning for me to wash my hands. “I’ll put some flour on the cutting board, and you can knead the dough.”
“He was vaguely threatening,” I argued a few minutes later, up to my elbows in flour. “People are nuts these days and…I had to tell you.”
“Thanks, but I’m out. People know I’m bi, Rafey. Coach Beekman knows, my teammates know, my teachers know, my parents even know. Fucking Eli knows. I’ve never had a boyfriend, so maybe it hasn’t been news, but it’s not a secret.”
“But they think you’re with me.”
“I am with you.”
“Yes, but…no. And I don’t want to put you in a bad position. To be clear, I know where we stand, and I’m all too aware that time is ticking. We won’t be roommates forever and this—whatever we are—will be—oh! I think the dough is ready.”
I lowered my head and stepped to the sink. I wanted to be cool about this, willing myself to hold it together as I reached for a paper towel to dry my hands.
Gus snaked his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder. I was relying on him to get us back to neutral. And he did…in Gus-like fashion. No maudlin nostalgic musings or unrealistic promises to be something impossible.
Just…
“I love it when I make dinner, and you get to clean up.”
I took the lifeline and laughed. “Why should I clean up? This isn’t my mess.”
“But you’re partaking of this amazing meal and fair’s fair, baby.”
“Do I get co-author credit?”
“Co-author? For rolling dough? That’s some new kind of bull-honky,” he huffed, smacking my ass.
“Bull-honky?”
“Poppycock, horsefeathers, hogwash…I could keep going,” he warned.
“Please do.”
I didn’t bother hiding my grin as he chattered on. Or the tears I were sure made my eyes too shiny. Gus wouldn’t judge me.
“Weird request. Are you ready for it?” he asked, bumping my hip.
“Mmm. Sure.”
“I want to see you skate in that blue costume. Just once…”
I met his earnest gaze and traced a thumb over his bottom lip. “Okay.”
Gus smiled, and pulled me onto his chest. I listened to the night settle around us in the kitchen. My heart felt too big, as if it had expanded in my body and crowded my lungs, blocking precious airwaves.
All I could think was…
He feels like home.
I want to be home.
The revelation wasn’t sudden or surprising. It had been coming on for weeks now in the form of longing looks, gentle hands, coffee in my favorite mug, a home-cooked meal, and a simple, “How was your day?” The little things that meant more than I’d ever imagined they could.
This fragile, clawing, consuming sweetness wasn’t for the soft-hearted. Especially knowing I couldn’t keep it.