Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Eric’s efforts to keep me distracted from trade news, signings, and extensions around the league are valiant—especially as days continue to pass without word from Robbie and the dread from silence builds.
When we aren’t home, Eric takes me on dates to places in and around Seattle.
A day at the mall full of shopping for some new clothes (with plenty of flirting inside the dressing room).
A quiet trip to one of the less popular beaches north of Seattle allows us to hold hands and walk along the shore to admire the view of the Pacific Ocean.
On a date at the bowling alley, we take bets over who will score more, unable to resist a healthy challenge.
If my score’s higher, I get to ride him inside his office; if not, he’ll mount me in bed, ass up, face first on the pillow. In the end, I win either way.
Eric even arranges “double dates” with Braydan and Kaori, not that he’s come out to her yet (which I have no problem whatsoever with; we’re taking everything at our own pace).
One night, it’s a movie, dinner, and drinks in town; for another, we visit their home to enjoy Kaori’s cooking, especially her signature meal: pork gyoza, miso soup, and a green salad with a sesame ginger vinaigrette.
With every interaction, I learn more about them, their friendship with Eric, and more about the Seadogs as a whole.
Checking off boxes on my Seattle bucket list and avoiding the stormclouds gathering on the horizon go hand in hand, but even Eric’s efforts have limits.
He can distract me during all hours of the day and some time after sunset, but even superheroes need rest. In the quiet hours when I should be exhausted from a packed day of activities and his attention, I struggle to fall asleep.
Some nights, I stare up at the ceiling, caught up in the past and future rather than focusing on the present and the man sleeping beside me.
The darkness finds a way to settle in, crawling out from under the bed to grab onto a foot to remind me it’s there threatening to drag me under.
When morning returns, I breathe easier and study Eric as he sleeps.
The shape of him, the strength in his figure.
The dark color of his lashes, the friction of his stubble, the dusting of dark hair on his chest. Some mornings, it’s raining outside so I trace the shadow of raindrops on his skin to the steady downpour.
And when Eric stirs, when he finally joins me in the waking world, he notices the sleepiness in my eyes and discovers the truth: another restless night. Instead of asking about the symptoms, he cuts straight to giving the treatment for what ails me:
“What do you want to do today, James?”
I always answer the same way with a sleepy smile. “Anything with you.”
He’ll stretch, displacing the covers and exposing the planes of his stomach, and then he’ll slip out of bed to get dressed, giving me an eyeful of his sexy, sculpted body.
And that’s our routine, day after day, night after night, until something gives.
One of these days, Robbie will text me with the news I’ve been dreading for weeks.
Every time my phone pings, my stomach churns until I check it, only to discover it’s a harmless message from my dad or actual spam (how do spammers always know when you’re expecting something serious and have to stay on top of checking your phone).
The dread is ever-present, a monster stalking my every move, waiting for the opportunity to strike.
With Eric, I’m able to ignore its presence, I’m able to avoid lingering in the shadows for long and stay in the light, but you can’t run forever.
During a trip with Braydan and Kaori at the Seattle aquarium, my phone chimes while the four of us are participating in a feeding demonstration between us, the staff, and the resident harbor seals.
I hand off the fish I was about to feed to one of the seals to Eric, wipe my hand on my shorts, and check my phone.
Robbie
Just letting you know, I’m reaching out to one of my contacts in the Comets’ front office. We’re getting answers today. I’ll get back to you by tonight.
So this is how today’s going to go, sitting inside the car of a rollercoaster, climbing a steep incline, waiting for an undetermined drop.
A splash from the water pulls me back to the surface. The seal in front of me swam away since I wasn’t paying attention to it.
Eric gently nudges me. “Everything okay?”
I bite my lip and show him the message, and he places a hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“He’ll handle it,” he murmurs into my ear. “Just try to focus on having a good time.”
Trust the process, I tell myself for the umpteenth time. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is out, there isn’t a cloud in the sky, and I’m with friends and the man I love. Trust the process.
Why does trusting the process have to be so hard and inconvenient?
Since the seals don’t show further interest, the aquarium staff wrap up the feeding encounter. I swallow my disappointment and keep a stoic face, but Eric notices the shift in my demeanor.
The four of us explore the rest of the aquarium’s exhibits showcasing various marine life native to the greater Pacific Northwest. Pavilion after pavilion of tall glass windows offer a glimpse into marine life with colorful fish, coral, translucent seaweed, and tall rock formations which create little hideaways for the shy sea creatures.
My friends are especially kind and patient; they’re aware of the news I’m waiting for, and they take extra care to keep me present in the moment, reminding me what matters most: the people who care about me and the experiences I share with them.
As we wander the aquarium, a strange sense of wonder and nostalgia accompanies the anxiety; I forgot how much I enjoyed aquariums as a kid.
The last time I went to one, I was in elementary school, and my mom was a chaperone, as she usually was for school trips.
She used to joke that herding kids on field trips was harder than playing goalie.
When we pass a gift shop, Eric buys me a stuffed seal plushie to make up for the missed chance during the encounter.
I couldn’t be more grateful to have something to hold and squeeze for comfort as we leisurely tour the educational exhibits and the outdoor botanical gardens.
Inside a butterfly room in one of the greenhouses, Kaori takes photos of Eric and I seated close on a bench.
We lean into each other, our sides pressed together.
“It kills me how adorable you two are,” she teases as she hands back my phone.
Eric and I flip through the photos, and we pick the best to send to my dad. My dad’s astute. He’ll notice from our body language what I haven’t told him yet—that my connection with Eric has been upgraded from “crush” to “together”.
At the end of the day, we say goodbye to Braydan and Kaori.
As we drive home, I clutch the plushie to my chest and stare out the window as golden hour Seattle passes by.
The landmarks around the city have become so much more familiar.
I’ve probably seen more of Seattle in the past few weeks than I ever did of Chicago’s main sites.
In fact, I haven’t really seen much of the city I’ve called home for the past several years, and the places I have…
I wouldn’t go back again. It wouldn’t be the same.
My phone pings, a response from my dad.
Dad
Sorry for the late response. I’ve been cloistered in my office trying to get some work done.
I’m so happy for you James. You guys make a cute couple.
The message causes me to groan down at my phone, a sound Eric distinctly hears.
“It’s—It’s just my dad. He finally saw our picture.”
I text back in a frenzy, embarrassed beyond belief.
Me
omg dad
How did you know?
Dad
Were you trying to hide it?
I gawk down at my phone and rub the bridge of my nose. Yes, we were, in fact.
Dad
I’ve watched you your entire life. I know when you’re smiling for more than just the camera.
Have you heard from Robbie?
Me
Not yet, but I’m expecting a text tonight
Dad
I hope everything goes the way you hope it does. I love you.
Me
Love you too
Yet as the sun sets in the rearview mirror, worry seeps in. Why hasn’t Robbie texted back? I keep checking my phone, hoping it will ring with a call or text. Hell, even an email. Waiting is agony.
Trust the process, my inner voice reminds me yet again, sounding just like my mom.
But what process is there to trust when the organization who drafted me has chosen radio silence instead of communication?
What am I supposed to do if not even Robbie can get through to them?
Don’t the Comets still need me? I was their starting goaltender for three years.
I still have value. I helped push the franchise to the playoffs three years in a row.
Our window hasn’t closed yet. Can’t they give me a chance?
A bridge extension? A see-how-it-goes contract?
As I check my phone with more and more frantic frequency, Eric notices my lighthearted mood has taken a significant downturn. At first, he says nothing, but the more I check and find nothing, the more fidgety I become.
While waiting at a stoplight on our way out of Seattle, Eric holds out his hand across the center console.
“Give me your phone.”
My fingers tighten around it. “Relax. I’m not looking at it.”
Eric shoots me a skeptical look, and I can’t deny it a second time. Sighing, I drop the phone into his palm, and he pockets it inside his jacket, safe from my constant attention.