Chapter 6 #2
Besides, evidence points to Eric being straight.
Eric’s breakup with his girlfriend was big news in the hockey world (even though it really shouldn’t have been).
The break happened right after the Seadogs won their first Stanley Cup.
Fans couldn’t believe his girlfriend would break up with him during what was a major milestone in his career.
The salacious side of hockey media speculated she wasn’t happy with the constant distance and busy lifestyle of a professional athlete. They said it was too much for her.
As far as the hockey world knows, Eric hasn’t been with anyone since. Those same tabloid outlets haven’t stopped wondering when the superstar goalie will eventually find the actual love of his life and settle down. They talk about it as if it’s inevitable.
And that’s when reality hits me. In less than twenty-four hours, we’ll both be back to our regularly scheduled lives. Back to playing the sport we both love as opponents instead of teammates. Will Eric remember this weekend fondly? Will he wish we could’ve spent more time together?
With these questions haunting my thoughts, I place my napkin on the table and push back my chair. “I’m going to check out the view.”
I wander to the restaurant’s railing and hang my head, exhaling softly.
What am I doing? I’m overthinking everything, just as I knew I would.
Typical. Nothing can be simple or straightforward for James Harrison because he’s a chronic worrier.
Even when everything’s going right, he has to find a way to make it difficult.
But can the world blame me? I’ve never done this before.
I can count the amount of friends I’ve made and kept over the years with one hand, and more than anything I just…
I just want to be friends with Eric—and that’s all it should be.
I shouldn’t have expectations of more. I should be willing to experience whatever Eric offers because I hardly know him and he hardly knows me.
I’m allowing wires to get crossed, tangled, and it’s ruining—
“Everything alright?” Eric asks, joining me at the railing. This close, our elbows brush as we lean against the metal.
My hand runs through my hair to smooth down some of the rustled strands. “Yeah, I’m just… Just admiring the view.”
Downtown Los Angeles at night sprawls before us, a perfect distraction from the mess in my head.
I’ve been to this city several times in the past, but I never had the time to take in the view.
Every major city I visit on the road follows the same routine—going from the airport to a hotel to the practice rink to the arena for a game.
Sometimes our team doesn’t even stay in the city after a game.
Athletes don’t linger long in one place except for our home cities.
Even then, our time is limited. We’re always jet-setting from one airport to the next, our lives in a constant state of transition and change.
“The view’s nice,” Eric murmurs. “Pales in comparison to Seattle, though.”
A light breeze billows the sleeves of my dress shirt.
I wouldn’t know much more about Seattle, either.
I’ve been across the continent, I’ve visited every major city hosting a team in the league, but it’s a shallow experience at most. There’s not much time to sight-see between travel, practice, and games.
I turn away from the view to face Eric. The two strands of dark hair dangling over his forehead gently sway. “Do you ever wish you had more time with a place before you had to fly off to the next?”
“Of course. There’s a few of our stops I’d love to check out. More than just the downtown highlights and the airport runway.” He shrugs. “What about you?”
“Someday I’d like to travel. Soak everything in at my own pace. But I guess that’s what the summer off-season’s for, huh?”
Back in Chicago, my parents and I visited many of the touristy places around the city.
I haven’t seen much of it since last summer.
I could ask my dad if he wanted to go on a vacation, but I suspect it would be a hopeless request. Summer may be academia’s own offseason, but my dad’s always working on a new article, a new collection of poems, or he’s traveling himself for conferences or his own research.
“Maybe you could plan something this year?” Eric suggests.
I shift back to the view, my heart heavy with so many unspoken desires. “Maybe.”
It’s more than just seeing new places, I refrain from telling him out loud. It’s about sharing the experience with someone. Traveling isn’t as enjoyable alone.
“We should probably think about calling it for the night,” I mumble, pushing off the railing.
I pay our bill with my card, leaving a generous tip for the restaurant staff. I had a great time before my overthinking tendencies arrived on cue to spoil the mood.
We leave the restaurant, heading for the hotel’s elevator. Inside, we say nothing, listening instead to the rumbling sounds as it descends to our level. We’ve spent so much of the weekend talking and sharing about ourselves, so the silence in contrast deafens.
Seconds later, the elevator arrives at our stop, doors opening to our floor. The hallway beyond seems to go on forever, an endless sea of ornate red carpet. It’s just another sign it’s all coming to an end.
We step off and head down the hallway, but it’s not long before we reach my room first. I hesitate at the door, playing with the keycard in my hand.
“I had a great time tonight, Eric. This whole weekend, honestly.”
“I did too. I hope you’re ready for all the goalie facts I’ll be sending throughout the rest of the season.”
The reminder makes me smile. Eric did give me his number, and he did encourage me to keep in touch. “You don’t think you’re going to run out?”
“Facts about goalies? Nah. There’s plenty.” He chuckles to himself. “And hey, don’t forget, you picked up a pretty awesome bobblehead this weekend!”
I snort. Yeah, I did.
After a lengthy pause, I glance at Eric and catch him staring. It’s just the two of us, alone, in the middle of the hallway. My eyes flicker down to his lips, and my inner voice comes roaring back with another warning.
Don’t.
If this was a dream, I’d take the gamble and roll the dice.
I’d be the kind of man who doesn’t overthink every interaction.
I’d grab Eric by the shirt, tug him closer, and kiss him.
He’d pin me to the door and have his way with me until something nudged us inside the room.
I’d let him drag me to the bed, and we’d see where the night took us, but…
But it’s not a dream. I’m not that kind of man. I wish our weekend didn’t have to end.
We say goodnight, and I watch Eric walk away, lingering in the doorway for longer than I should. It’s hard to ignore the sting of immediate regret, but it has to be this way. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be back in Chicago, thousands of miles away from Eric.