Chapter 13 #6
In a few short weeks, the hockey postseason would be finished.
I’d have my weekends free again. My teammates would use that time to go to parties with their girlfriends, or hang out with their buddies in the student center.
And where would I be? Killing time until it was late enough to sneak into Graham’s room for a few hours, before I snuck out again before dawn.
Graham was never going to budge from his closet. So my choice was to either leave him, or just get used to dining on the scraps he gave me.
So pathetic.
I rolled over, feeling sorry for both of us.
The next two days sucked in much the same way.
For almost forty-eight hours I’d heard nothing from Graham. My texts went unanswered. Just when I was really getting worried, he finally called me Monday afternoon as I was walking out of Spanish class.
“Hey,” he said. “I only have a minute. My mom’s in the bathroom, but I just wanted to say hi.”
“Hi,” I said, maybe a little testily. “How’s your big old melon?”
“Hurts,” he said. “We just got back from the doctor, and there’s a whole lot of shit that I’m not supposed to do for a while. Like read.”
“All right…” I tried to imagine getting through a week at Harkness without reading. “How’s that supposed to work?”
“Exactly. This week Mom is coming to class with me to take notes.”
“No shit?” I stopped walking just outside of the Harkness Commons dining hall to finish our conversation.
“No shit. And I have no idea how long this will last. Shoot me.”
“God, I’m sorry, G.” And I really was. The sound of his voice did something to me, too. It made me realize how badly I missed him. There was a reason I put up with the whole stealthy-like-a-ninja act. He was important to me, whether it was convenient or not. “Can I come over tonight?”
He cleared his throat. “There’s a whole lot of things I’m not supposed to do.”
“Okay. Is talking to me one of them?”
“No,” he laughed.
“I’ll text you before I come, just to make sure the coast is clear. But that means you’ll actually have to text me back.”
“Sorry about that,” he said. “But it hurts when I look at the screen.”
And now I felt like an ass. “Shit. Should I call instead?”
“I’ll ring you when it’s all clear.”
All clear. As if I was a criminal. Christ. “Be well, G. I miss you.”
He cleared his throat. “Later.”
Sigh.
That afternoon I went to practice.
I hadn’t seen any of my teammates since the weirdness at the hospital.
For some reason I felt more awkward about walking into the locker room than I ever had before.
I’d always wished that Graham could be with me in a way that wasn’t like a state secret.
But I’d always understood his struggle, too. He didn’t want eyes on him. I got that.
But now all those eyes were on me as I walked into the locker room. Or at least it felt like they were. I was pretty sure that a couple of conversations stopped as I entered the room.
I didn’t even know what to think about that, other than I knew that Graham wouldn’t like it.
Hartley greeted me with a familiar nod, and I began stripping out of my jacket and jeans, and pulling on my pads.
“How is he?” Hartley asked in a voice too low to be overheard.
“He feels better, but the news is still shitty,” I said. “There’s nothing he can do, and his mom is, like, his permanent nursemaid.”
“Fuck,” Hartley said.
“Yeah,” I agreed. Although I would have chosen a different expression. Because fucking was off the table, apparently.
The locker room door opened and Coach’s voice rang out.
“Afternoon, hooligans! Listen up, I have news.” The chatter and smack talk died down.
“Now, I’m sorry to tell you that Mike Graham’s concussion is going to keep him off the ice, probably for the rest of the season.
I am sad as hell to lose him. Furthermore, Davis’s tendinitis is going to keep him out for another two games.
But fear not! I have I brought you some back-up.
For a limited engagement only, please welcome Bridger McCaulley back to the room. ”
“No shit!” somebody yelled. And then cheers and applause practically thundered off the walls as a red-haired guy appeared in the doorway, pulling a hockey bag behind him. He smiled a little sheepishly, this guy that I’d replaced in the fall.
“Suit up fast, Bridger. Ice in ten minutes!” Coach yelled. “We’ll sort out who’s switching to defense this afternoon. Everybody skate hard, and it will all work out.”
Hartley waved Bridger over, holding up a hand for a high-five. “Glad to see you here, man,” he said.
“Yeah? We’ll see if you’re still glad ninety minutes from now,” Bridger said. He turned to me and stuck out a hand. “I’m Bridger. Nice to meet you.”
“Rikker,” I said, shaking his hand.
“I know,” he drawled. “Didn’t know I was going to be replaced by a celebrity.”
“Yeah, well. It was my lifelong dream to be famous for getting kicked off a hockey team. But if you need an autograph or anything, I can probably fit you in.”
Bridger grinned. Then he glanced around the locker room. “Hartley, where do you want to put me?”
Right. I was in his spot. Whoops.
“Over here, Bridge,” Bella called, waving the guy into the corner, where she was stuffing Graham’s gear into a bag. “Sorry, we weren’t quite ready for you.”
“No biggie.” He leaned down to unzip his bag, and I turned my back to shrug my chest pads over my head.
“Hey!” Big-D crossed the room to slap Bridger on the back. “Please tell me you’re back permanently. Things just aren’t the same this year.”
My blood pressure spiked. Only Big-D would find a compliment for Bridger which also managed to put me down.
“You’re right,” Bridger said, shaking out his hockey shorts.
“What’s different is that you win all the fucking time.
But I promise not to wreck it too bad. You only get me for the post-season, anyway.
Even playing a handful of games with you is more than I can afford.
I’m going to owe my girlfriend for covering for me at home. Big time.”
Big-D snorted. “There is no way that Bridger McCaulley just used the word ‘girlfriend’ in a sentence. We have to meet this girl. I need proof.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that a lot,” Bridger said.
On his way back across the room, Big-D pointed at Trevi’s feet. “Dude, those socks are so gay.”
Everybody looked at Trevi’s socks, even me. They were striped: blue and violet. “My sister knitted them for Christmas,” Trevi said, unconcerned.
“Next time, tell her to…” Big-D cut himself off, putting one hand across his own mouth in an exaggerated gesture.
“Oops,” he said, turning back to Bridger.
“Forgot to warn you, man. We can’t make gay jokes anymore.
Because some people might get offended.” This little performance was put on entirely to embarrass me.
On a good day, Big-D didn’t go five minutes without using “gay” to describe anything that displeased him.
“Naw,” I piped up. “You go ahead, Big-D. I don’t give a flying fuck if you say a pair of socks is gay. Or Smitty’s watch, or what-the-fuck-ever. There’s pretty much nothing you can say that will offend me. It only makes me wonder if you know what the word means.”
There was silence in the locker room then.
I should have just shut up, of course. But I was just too strung out to rein myself in.
“…Because it would be pretty fuckin’ hard for a pair of socks or a watch to act gay.
Those would have to be some really talented socks.
” I made quotation marks with my fingers.
“Gay does not mean bright colors. Gay means my mouth on another guy’s dick… ”
A loud groan of distress rose up in the locker room.
“Check, please!” Trevi hollered. “No thank you for that visual.”
Hartley gave me a nudge. “Cool it, will you? It’s time to skate.”
Bending over, I yanked on my laces. Usually, I didn’t bait Big-D. And Graham would probably have a coronary if he’d heard what I’d said. But today I just felt so raw. The universe was fucking with me, and I felt like fighting back.
Because that always works.
I almost had my skates tied by the time Bella rolled the hockey bag full of Graham’s gear away from the lockers.
Making eye contact with me, she pointed at it, asking if I’d take it to him.
With a frown, I gave her a single shake of my head.
God forbid I help out Graham by bringing him his gear.
He’d have a second coronary, and while they were giving him the defibrillator, he’d ask me if there were any witnesses.
“Let’s go, guys!” Bella called. “Ninety-six hours until the semifinals!”
She was right. We had more games to win. And it was a bad idea to sit around feeling confused about Graham.