Four
Blaine
“I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.” Joe, the team's physician, gives me a pointed look.
Why is it that whenever someone says that, you immediately regret everything?
I drop my head between my shoulders. “I know, I know! I’m paying for it now.”
“Why didn’t you come and see me after the game? I could have helped you.”
“It didn’t feel as bad, probably because I was just hopped up on the adrenaline, but Joe,” I whine playfully, although I know he’s going to take zero pity on me. “It really hurts.”
With a roll of his eyes, he pats the table.
I climb up, screwing my face up when my hip twinges.
I took a big hit in the third period last night, and my left hip has been sore since.
I spent some time on the bike and did some stretches after the game, followed by a quick ice bath before jumping into a long, extra-hot shower.
Although I was starting to ache last night, I didn’t think it was this bad, but this morning I woke up feeling like an eighty-six-year-old.
“You know better than that, Blaine. Have I taught you nothing since we’ve been working together?”
I sigh.
He’s right. I skipped protocol last night—despite the fact that I thought I was okay—and reconditioning and recovery is essential.
“Or was it you were too eager to go and see a certain blond that was by the boards?” I open my eyes at his teasing tone and throw a glare over to Ethan on the next table over. His shoulders are shaking as he silently laughs to himself.
“Fuck you, Ethan,” I grumble.
He flips his middle finger over his shoulder at me before groaning when the other therapist works on the back of his thigh.
“I’m guessing everyone knows?”
Joe nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “You can thank the rookie for that. He’s been blowing up everyone's phones, sharing the news that Mister Bachelor-for-life himself got turned down for the first time in history.”
Fucking Mitch.
After Alex disappeared into the crowd last night, I headed back to the table, uncertain for the first time in a while.
“ What happened?” Ethan asked, his annoyance evident, as was his surprise at my re-appearance.
Alone.
I shrugged, slumping into the seat next to him. “ He turned me down.”
Ethan ’ s jaw dropped open, and the rest of the boys leaned forward.
“ Shut the front door!” Elliot gasped. “ You got rejected?”
I flipped him off. “ Fuck off.”
He slapped his palm against the table, his head tipped back in laughter. “ This is amazing. Broski got rejected!”
I scowled at my twin brother, hoping our telepathic senses were working so he could feel the wrath that would be coming his way if he didn ’ t quit it.
“ What did he say, exactly?” Kendrick asked in amusement.
“ Just that he ’ s been hurt by guys like me in the past and that if I want him, I ’ ll have to work for him.”
“ Ouch!” Zach grimaced. “ You ’ ve never had to work for anyone ’ s attention in your life.”
“ I know!” I sighed, running an aggravated hand through my hair. “ I ’ m feeling kinda… stunned.”
Ethan smirked. “ Hell, I wanna meet this guy.”
I’m still kinda baffled now.
There’s never been a time where there was an obvious mutual attraction and they haven’t wanted something from me. It’s left me off-kilter.
All thoughts of Alex are pushed to the back of my mind as Joe begins to work on my hip, and we start discussing tactics ahead of our game against Detroit tomorrow.
* * *
A few hours later, I’m about to drift off on the couch to the sound of SportsCenter on the TV and the image of Alex running through my mind when the door to my apartment swings open, quickly followed by the sound of Elliot’s voice.
“Yeah, yeah, it was so funny, Mom.” He’s practically howling with laughter, and by the time he appears in front of me in basketball shorts and a Thunder training tee, his eyes are creased with laughter lines.
I cast a glare at him, mouthing, “What?”
“I was just telling Mom about how you got turned down last night,” he says between laughter and gasping for breath.
“Blaine?” My mom’s voice echoes through the speaker on Elliot’s phone. “Elliot, leave your brother alone and give him the phone.” He hands it over to me before disappearing to look in the fridge. I can’t help but smile at the sight of my mom filling the small screen.
With bright red hair, freckles dotted across her nose, and porcelain skin, she’s glowing under the Californian sunshine where she sits on the porch of our childhood home. A far cry from the cloudy skies of Chicago currently outside my window.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, how are you? Great game last night!” Her delicate brows turn downward in a frown. “And I know you were protecting your brother, but that doesn’t mean I condone the fighting.”
I smother my laughter with my hand. “Sorry, Mom.”
Her face softens. “You’ve always had that protective streak when it comes to Elliot.”
Isn’t that the truth.
Ever since we were kids, my mom says I’ve always acted like Elliot’s protector.
I didn’t realize the complications my parents had with Elliot’s birth until I was older, and how they thought they were going to lose him.
Twins are often high-risk, and apparently I was a greedy baby, which meant Elliot was a lot smaller than he was supposed to be.
It was like my subconscious mind knew that, so I was always there for him, even before we could walk and talk.
Elliot returns from the kitchen with a bowl filled with grapes and mango and slumps on the couch next to me.
I haven’t moved from my spot since getting back from the conditioning session at the training facility.
I usually try to make the most of our off days.
Sometimes I end up using them to nap and do some stretching, and when the weather’s nice, Elliot, Zach, and I will go on a walk or something.
The rain has put a damper on that plan today, though.
“I also saw that article that was posted about you.” She frowns. “That photo wasn’t something I ever wanted to see of my son, but I’m angry at those girls for doing that to you.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“I’m also angry at you for putting yourself in that position. I don’t know why you can’t find yourself someone nice to settle down with.”
I roll my eyes. “Don't you start, too. I had Elliot and Ethan give me that talk last night.”
She purses her lips, clearly wanting to argue but deciding against it. “What does Hayden have to say about it?”
“He wants me to keep my head down, at least until the trade deadline has passed.”
“Is he worried?”
I nod, sinking further into the cushions. “Yeah, Coach pretty much said the same because it sheds a bad light on the team too.”
She hums, nodding in agreement, then takes a sip of her coffee. “They’re both right. You and Elliot have worked so hard to be where you are; don’t allow people to ruin that for you, to ruin your dream.”
I look over at my brother. He’s got this sad puppy-dog face going on that makes my heart hurt. I hold my fist out to him, giving him a smile when he returns the bump.
“And what’s this your brother told me about you getting turned down last night? How is that keeping your head down if you’re running after people?”
Elliot grins around a mouthful of fruit, enjoying the fact that Mom is grilling me far too much.
I flip him off.
“I saw this guy during warm-up. Super hot, blond hair, and the bluest fucking eyes I’ve ever seen.”
“Language!” Mom scolds.
“Sorry.” I grimace, rubbing the back of my neck. “He was beautiful, Mom, which I know sounds stupid. Anyway, I purposely knocked into the boards to get his attention, but I didn’t realize he had put his drink on the ledge, so I ended up completely soaking him with his beer.”
Mom gasps. “Blaine William Olsen! Why would you do such a cruel thing? No wonder he said no if you humiliated him like that.”
Elliot laughs, throwing grapes up in the air and catching them in his mouth.
I shrug. “I dunno… I dunno what compelled me to do it, but I did, and we just…” I trail off, rubbing my face with my palm and mumble, “Had this moment.”
“What was that, sweetie?”
“We had a moment… In the penalty box…”
Elliot erupts into laughter again. I scowl, flipping him off for the second time in a couple of minutes. My middle finger might as well be permanently up with the number of times I’ve flipped the bird in the last twenty-four hours.
“Then,” he leans over, pushing my head out of the way. “He saw him again at Gino’s after the game. He was at the bar, and Blaine was over there like a rocket, trying to be all swoony and seductive, and when he suggested going back to his place, the guy said no!”
Mom rolls her lips; they’re twitching with laughter. She tries to put on a typical sympathetic-mom face as she says, “Oh honey!” but then a giggle escapes. Next thing I know, both my mom and Elliot are belly laughing.
“I don’t find this very funny,” I grumble.
If I could stomp my foot on the floor like a child, I would, because I don’t like being the center of this “let's make a joke out of Blaine” parade.
“Aw, honey. Maybe he isn’t like the rest of the people you… you know, date .” My mom doesn’t like the whole hookup culture. “Why don’t you ask this nice guy on a date?”
I sigh, shaking my head.
“Not everyone is going to be like the others, sweetie. You can’t keep up this persona forever. Isn’t it lonely?”
Yeah, it is really fucking lonely, but it’s better than feeling vulnerable and getting your heart broken.
It’s easier to jump from bed to bed. Having a different partner every night.
Because it means I’m in control of the narrative.
I get to decide whether I take them up on their offer or not, and I get to set the ground rules that are strictly no feelings, one night only, and no strings attached.
Because every person I thought could be the one turned out to have an ulterior motive. Like my college girlfriend, Kelly, when I overheard her talking to her friends in junior year.
I’d just gotten back from an away game at UMass where we lost spectacularly, and there was nothing I wanted more than to just chill with my girl, but as soon as I stepped through the door of her house, I heard her saying that she was only with me for the clout.
Once I went pro, she would be able to live the life she’d always wanted; she wouldn’t need to work because I’d have enough money in the bank to support her, and she could buy anything she wanted.
She went on to say that she didn’t really love me.
I later found out she was sleeping with a guy from the basketball team.
We had been together since freshman year, and the whole time had been a lie.
Nearly three years built on deception.
But I kept trying and kept ending up disheartened.
My mom must notice I’ve disappeared into my own head because she says, “your dad and I were thinking we might try and come to Chicago for Christmas.”
“Yeah, that would be nice. You can stay here or at El’s. I’m happy to host it here.”
She beams. “Invite all the boys too.”
I chuckle. All the guys love our mom. “I’m sure they’ll snap that invitation up in a heartbeat.”
She asks us how we’re feeling ahead of our eight-day road trip to the West Coast, then fills us in on my cousin, who started college this year. Once we say our goodbyes, I’m beat, emotionally drained after my throwback thoughts.
“Wanna go see what Zach’s up to?” Elliot says, clearly noticing I need the distraction.
“Yeah, sounds good.”
I grab my things, and we head down the hall to Zach’s apartment.
When I moved to Chicago, we clicked instantly. He is one of the best defensemen I’ve ever played with, and became my closest friend on the team, so when this apartment came up for sale opposite his, buying it was a no-brainer.
We’ve become the Luke, Chewbacca, and Han Solo of Chicago, and I’m Han, of course, because I’m awesome.
Footsteps and a muffled voice sound from his apartment when we knock on the door. Zach answers with his phone to his ear
“Hey,” he says with an upturn of his chin and mouths, “Sorry, just on the phone to Carter.” He steps aside to let us in, closing the door behind us. His apartment has the same layout as mine and Elliot’s, and we’ve been here so often that we pretty much know it like our own.
Retrieving two bottles of water from the fridge, I toss one to Elliot, and take a seat on the couch. SportsCenter plays on the large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall above a fireplace, showing clips from last night's New Jersey and Toronto game.
“Yeah, that’s cool; I’ll speak to you later,” Zach says into the phone, and I’m certain he whispers, “I miss you,” but I can’t quite be sure.
“What's up?” he asks, sitting down on the other end of the sectional. “It’s only been two hours. Did you miss me or something?”
“Yes!” Elliot says dramatically, throwing his thumb over his shoulder toward me. “I’m so bored of this one moping.”
“I am not moping!”
My brother rolls his eyes. “Puh-lease. Even mom could see you were moping.”
“Well, it’s not like I’m ever gonna see him again.”
I can’t pinpoint why that pains me the way it does.
I don’t miss people, except my parents, but that’s normal.
It’s not normal to miss someone you just met and know nothing about except for their name, their scent, the color of their eyes, or the sound of their voice.
“Got any plans this afternoon?” Zach asks.
I shrug. “I was just gonna play some video games and take a nap.”
“Wanna come with me to my favorite place?” His eyes sparkle with mischief.
“I do not wanna see Carter naked, thank you very much.” Elliot holds his hands up.
A quick flash of panic flashes in Zach’s eyes before he blinks it away. “I didn’t mean that.”
Elliot lets out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Well, thank Gretzky for that. You had me worried for a moment.”
Zach looks at him, his forehead furrowed in a frown. “I meant this dessert place in Lincoln Park. They do the most amazing donuts and cupcakes there.” He practically drools before patting his solid stomach. “I like to treat myself after a win.”
“Sure, sounds good!” I nod.
“I’ll meet you downstairs in ten, I gotta put some pants on.” Elliot sprints out of the door, allowing it to slam shut behind him. When the coast is clear, Zach turns to me, frowning.
“Why does he think my favorite place is Carter naked?”
I shake my head, a rumble of laughter escaping my throat. “Ignore him; you know what he’s like. He’s just messin’.”
Zach hums, making me a little suspicious that maybe Elliot was closer to the mark than we might think.