18. Easton #2
“Don’t you see what’s going on?” Kyle demanded, his voice booming.
It truly was deeper than it had been before.
The changes weren’t just the product of my imagination, shifting from liking him to hating him.
He was bigger, older, rougher. He was using something.
“These are lies,” he cried. “I bet it’s Easton who sent them.
He’s jealous. Can’t you see? He wants to be the captain, and he knows he’s losing it.
And if that’s not enough, he has a good reason to see me off the team.
You didn’t know that, did you? You didn’t know he’s a pervert. That’s right.”
Blood boiled in my veins. My face heated up. My heart pounded in my chest, but my feet were stuck to the floor, welded to it so I couldn’t move.
“He wanted me to bend over for him. Ask him. Fuck, guys, just look how red he is. He wanted to screw me, and I didn’t let him.”
“That’s enough!” O’Brien screamed, outraged beyond his usual quiet grimness. “You will follow me immediately, Hobbs, or you are off the team permanently. Screw your tests.” O’Brien grabbed Kyle’s shoulder pad and practically dragged him into the hallway.
The silence that settled in the locker room was worse than any I’d ever heard.
Nobody had raised a voice against Kyle’s accusations.
Nobody had said a thing except O’Brien, and that guy had been Kyle’s ally.
I doubted he stood up for my sake. It was more likely that he was sick of his protégé digging the hole deeper.
I looked around the locker room, my heart thundering so loudly that I wouldn’t hear it if someone spoke to me. But nobody did. Not one goddamn friend or teammate said a word to me.
They all undressed with methodical speed, then put on their regular clothes and did not speak to each other. I stood in my uniform, turning around while the locker room spun and spun.
One by one, defeated and deflated, my teammates left the locker room until only Elio and Patrick remained. Both of my friends had changed out of their uniforms.
I looked at Elio, who seemed hot with fury. “Congratulations, Captain,” I spat, driving another wedge where I couldn’t build a bridge. Even now, he couldn’t speak up for me.
Patrick sat on the bench, looking at his hands. Elio stood, tall and muscular, his head held high.
“You both know he’s full of shit, right?” I demanded. “That wasn’t how it happened.”
“But it happened,” Elio said tightly.
I choked, my mouth opening and closing without a sound.
“Something must have happened. He didn’t make it all up,” Elio said, the accusation thick in his voice.
“I…” Again, my voice cut off, but I stammered on. “It’s not…the same. I just…I thought… Fuck, Elio. He led me on. He wanted to…together…”
“Spare me,” Elio said. “I don’t want to hear the details.”
The terrible confusion that had fogged my mind lifted abruptly. I understood what this was, and it made me hot with anger. “He lied there, and you didn’t say a word.”
Elio’s cheeks were pink and darkening. “Why should I? They’re already gonna think I’m like you because we were friends.”
“And that’s your problem?” I demanded, taking a step forward. I was padded, and Elio wasn’t. If it came to it, I had a great defensive advantage, even if he was bigger. “You were scared they’d think you’re gay?”
Elio winced. “I’m not. You better remember that.” He sidestepped me and slammed his shoulder into mine as he passed. “And I’m not your friend.”
“Because of this?” I asked, my voice torn between emotions. I didn’t know if I hated him or longed to reconcile with him.
Elio spun around. “Because you’re selfish,” he said.
“You led me on to be friends with you when I wasn’t a threat.
You risked my reputation by…by keeping me close and doing whatever the hell you did to Kyle.
And you made me your enemy as soon as the coaches favored me.
” He turned away from me with cold dignity and walked away.
“Wait,” I said.
“Go to hell, Easton,” Elio said without turning back. He left the locker room, and tears stung my eyes. Angry tears. Tears of hate. Tears of losing a friend in the worst way I could have imagined.
I glared at Patrick, who still sat, his blue eyes on me. He shook his head defensively. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say anything.”
“No. You didn’t.” I ripped the pads off my shoulders. “You better tell me I’m going to hell and run before someone thinks we’re fucking in here.”
Patrick sucked his teeth. “You’re not my type, Captain.”
My heart trembled. Was it hope or fear? I didn’t dare to hope, though. “Don’t you have a slur for me?”
Patrick rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t care who you sleep with.”
“So long as I do it in my four walls?” I asked.
Patrick rose to his feet calmly, but his expression was like a brewing storm. “You need to back off, Easton. Stop baiting me for a fight. I’ll rip you apart if my patience runs out, and I’m really fucking trying to have some understanding for you.”
That shut me up just fine.
“Last year, you were the voice of reason in this locker room,” Patrick said.
“From the day I joined this team, whether they liked you or not, the team respected your opinion. You were impartial, and you were coolheaded. Sure, we lost all the games, but nobody blamed you for it. You blamed yourself for it. And whatever the hell happened with Kyle, I don’t think you deserved it.
But you let it change you, and we can smell it. ”
I pressed my lips tightly into a line, not trusting them not to quiver.
“You have to stop fighting against the whole world,” Patrick said. “Because if you don’t, you’ll quickly see that you’re outnumbered.”
A silence followed, thick and stuffy. My will to fight went away, but the depth of my misery remained. “They all hate me because I’m gay.”
“No, they don’t,” Patrick said.
“Elio does.”
“Then he’s a piece of shit,” Patrick replied. “The rest of them are just cowards. It’ll take time to see that there’s nothing wrong here. And if you didn’t bite every hand offered to you, that would go a long fucking way in mending things.”
“So what? I should be understanding when everyone else runs in fear of the homo in the locker room?” I asked, bitter and angry once again.
Patrick shrugged. “I never said it was fair.” He picked up his backpack and tossed it over his shoulder. “I’m sorry it happened this way.”
I nodded.
“But it’s not over, Easton,” Patrick said. “I still believe in you.”
“Yeah,” I managed to whisper. You and what army? I wondered. There was no cliché camera pan revealing an army behind Patrick. It was just him, a lone guy with a short fuse and a scowl on his face. He stalked away from the locker room and left me alone in my failure.
Perhaps I couldn’t fight the whole world. Perhaps I didn’t need to. But as I walked out of the rink long after all of them had gone, the tall figure with arms crossed on his chest and a sharp gaze fixed on the door sparked enough of the fuel in me for one more fight.