Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
It’s a good thing I gave him his Christmas present before finals because we’ve barely seen each other despite me spending more time on campus than usual.
Maude insists we can catch up on practice during winter break.
I’d much rather eat shit failing a quad than read another primary source, but I know she’s right and my grades matter more right now.
I’ve traded the rink for my dorm room, hunkering down to perfect my essays and color-code my notecards just right. It’s been quite enough in my dorm room. Normally, Terrence begs me for study help, but we haven’t spoken since the whole arrivals debacle.
I hit submit on my last paper of the semester and slump in my chair. Checking the time, I realize I haven’t moved from this spot in four hours. I deserve a reward. A big, furry reward.
I drive past Christos’ place and park as per usual.
Before I hop out of the cab, I notice a text notification.
I’ve shut off all other notifications on my phone since the Grand Prix win.
I’d delete the apps if I didn’t have to post sponsorship content.
I’m expecting something from Maude but am surprised to see Leroy’s name pop up.
Hey man, I know you and Terrence aren’t talking but it was a massacre out there. I think it would mean a lot if you talked to him.
I’d forgotten they had a game tonight.
I wrack my brain trying to remember what team the Dingbat’s faced off against. I’m still blanking when I click on a college sports article I find online.
In big bold letters, the score of 0-4 makes me gag.
We’d been on a winning streak since October.
Scrolling down, it looks like we lost to the Chesapeake Bay Warriors, the best team in the Eastern college hockey league.
I think. Terrence complains about them enough, so they must be good.
I hop out of my car and start walking. The team will bounce back from this. They’ve had way more embarrassing losses. Plus, Christos is a good coach, I’m sure they’ll win the next one.
I knock at the door and there’s no answer.
I check the driveway, wondering if maybe he went out for some consolation beers with the guys, but his car is here.
I knock again and this time the door opens, He’s still wearing his coach sweats.
He steps back into the living room, keeping the door open for me to follow. I shut the door behind me.
The air is stale, lacking warmth and the smell of spices I’ve come to expect. Which is fine, it’s not like I come here for meals.
He flops onto the couch, eyeing the empty space between his open legs. I straddle his hips, leaning into him and reaching for his jacket zipper. “You want a distraction?”
I tug at it when he touches my hand. Under his breath he says, “Not tonight…”
That’s fine, it’s not like I come here for sex.
I settle on the couch cushion beside him. His copy of To Frost the Thaw is on the coffee table. I flip it open, searching for the dog eared page. “You almost done?”
He grunts, “Working on it.”
I slam the book shut. “What’s up with you?” I wouldn’t act like this if I didn’t make the podium. I’d welcome the distraction if I came back from the Grand Prix in fourth place. Assuming he’d want anything to do with me if I wasn’t an Olympic hopeful.
His head shoots up, snapping at me. “It goes against your rules.”
I wish he’d take those sweats off. It’s like the nylon has possessed him, making him act like the macho-man coach I’ve seen on campus, but never here. Never when it’s just the two of us.
“We don’t need to talk, I already know about the game.”
My hand rests on his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about the game?”
“Is that allowed?”
I roll my eyes. “Christos, come on.”
I study his face, but it’s like studying a concrete block, all rigid edges with a dull exterior. “The rules of this arrangement is we don’t talk about work. I’m pissed about work. No one wants to deal with that, so why should you?”
I’m not sure why his word choice offends me so much, but I spit it back at him like a bewildered professor reading an essay to a failing student. “Arrangement?”
He rubs the back of his neck, dipping his chin. He tells the floor, “You know what I meant.”
I throw my hands up, pushing myself up off his hips. “Fine then, forget the rules. I know the game sucked—”
“Don’t—” He holds up a hand, shaking his head a little. “Try to make me feel better about things you know nothing about.”
“Nothing?” I cross my arms. “You know next time a reporter asks me about my training and process I’ll tell them, I know nothing!”
“This is different,” he argues.
Not that I try to dissuade the arguing. “How is it different?”
“You didn’t tear into twenty-three guys at halftime to have them play worse.” He pushes his hair back, agitated. “I tore those boys down and now I gotta figure out how to build them back up.”
“Okay, but you do that all the time,” I shrug. “You built them up this season, you’ll do it again.”
His hand rests on the back of his neck, voice softer now. “This was going to help us get to the Frozen Four.”
“No one expected you to make it to the Frozen Four.” My voice is dripping with sentimentalism, which makes it worse.
I wait for him to snort or grumble or do something to tell me how bad I’ve pissed him off. Instead, he sighs like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.
“You should go.”
“I just got here,” I say, petulant.
Christo’s lips twitch like he’s fighting back another argument. I don’t deserve his leniency, but I don’t apologize before I storm out. I’ve got one foot on the porch when he grabs my arm. “Wait,” he sighs. “I’m sorry—please don’t leave angry.”
There’s a forlorn look in his eyes that reminds me we won’t see each other for a while. Winter break is a few days away. I’ve got a booked schedule between skating, family, and the influx of promos that came in after my Grand Prix win.
“Let’s talk, like adults. No rules. No trying to protect each other’s feelings. Just talk.”
His gentle voice doesn’t soothe me in the slightest.
“You can’t take out your team losing on me!”
“That wasn’t fair.” He gives my arm a slight tug. “Can we please talk about this inside?”
I hesitate. The houses on either side of me are close enough I can look right into their living room and kitchen respectively. But truly, I don’t want to make a scene. It would feel great to leave him in this miserable state, but I know I’ll want him back tomorrow.
I step inside and shut the door behind me. We sit on the couch, his hand on my knee.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you. Today was a bad day and that’s not your fault.” He shakes his head. “But it sucks we can’t talk about it because you don’t want to.”
“You keep talking about this like they’re my rules.”
He frowns and starts counting off on his fingers. “No talking about figuring skating or the Dingbats, your rule. No sleepovers, your rule. No flirting on campus, even though I was not flirting with you on campus.”
I roll my eyes. “Agree to disagree there.”
He still has three fingers up. “Roderick, they’re all your rules. I’m not even sure how most of them keep our relationship a secret. Don’t tell anyone isn’t even a rule!”
There’s a reason for that, one I hadn’t realized till this very moment. “It’s… an unspoken rule…”
His frown becomes more severe. “No one knows about us, right?”
If I lie now, everything that comes next will be under that pretense. Every kiss, every hand hold, every home cooked meal, the direct result of a lie. I take a deep breath so my voice doesn’t shake. “Alex knows.”
His furrowed brows jump, then sink right back down his face. “Alex?”
“My famous friend,” I croak. “Alexsandra, the figure skater.”
His hard expression melts to shock, a painful expression like I’ve dumped ice water over his head.
“I told her before we were even really together!”
Christos looks down at his lap and I’m not sure if he can’t stand to look at me or if he’s hiding tears.
I don’t hide anything, my cheeks burning. “I completely forgot that you didn’t know.”
He chokes out, “You don’t—” then thinks better of whatever he was going to say, rubbing his face with his hands.
“I do forget things! Especially when I have to lie all the time! I can’t keep a spreadsheet of lies.”
His hand covers his mouth and his shoulder shake, turning his head away from me.
“Christos, please,” I say, thinking he’s crying.
Except the muffled sounds aren’t deep and heaving but… lighter and breathy.
“Are you laughing?”
He pauses, lets go of his muzzle, and rolls his shoulders back. “You would keep a very good lies spreadsheet.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
He bites his lip to hide an obvious smile. “I just want to know… how you’d color code it.”
“Red, yellow, and green by the severity of the lie. Obviously.”
Still chuckling, he hangs his head in his hands.
I inch closer to his face, examining him like a test I haven’t studied hard enough for. “I can’t tell if you’re still mad at me.”
“I’m mad,” he confirms. “And sad, and tired, and heartbroken. But it’s not because of you.”
Somehow that makes me feel worse. If I’m not the center of his pain then there is only so much I can do to fix it.
“The team means a lot to me, Roderick. I’ve played hockey most of my life. I owe a lot of who I am today to coaches, and I want to pay that forward. I did a shit job of that tonight.”
I want to tell him he’s wrong, assure him he’s living up to whatever standard he has in his mind.
Except what he said in the kitchen was right.
I have no idea what makes a good hockey coach.
I have no idea what he said to the team when they were losing and if it was worse when they lost. I’m at a complete loss.
“Christos—”
“I’m not finished.” He waits, double checking I won’t interrupt. “I didn’t mean to dismiss you earlier. You know I respect you as an athlete, but sometimes it doesn’t feel mutual. Like you don’t see the Dingbats as a legitimate team.”
I wait to make sure he’s finished before assuring him.
“I do. Sometimes it’s… weird, you know. The Dingbats have always been…
” I decide there’s no word that won’t come off as insulting in this already sensitive setting.
“Christos, you’re making them a better team.
As players and I’m sure as people. You’re a wonderful person.
It’s honestly baffling how you can be both this soft, gentle giant and also kind of an asshole. ”
He lifts a brow.
“Hockey players are kinda assholes…”
“And figure skaters are kinda pretentious.”
There’s a sting to his insult, and I accept that my words must have been just as harsh.
I stand up, wondering if he’ll reach for me. Beg for me to stay, denying himself the space I think he really needs right now. I take a step towards the door when he asks, “Will we see each other before break?”
The realization makes me wince. I’ve got an exam tomorrow afternoon with plans to head to the rink right after and start my so-called vacation early. I’d change my plans for him if he’d ask.
Instead, he mutters, “Maybe the space is good…”
“Why’d you stop me from leaving before?” The harshness in my voice is enough of a jab but I have to add, “Just say you want me gone!”
“I do want you here, Roderick,” he says, defeated. “That’s why I stopped you from leaving. That’s why I agreed to those annoying rules. I thought, if this is what it takes to be with him, it’s worth it. If I don’t say yes, if I let him walk out that door—I’ll lose him.”
He stands up. I lift my chin, expecting us to kiss and makeup and fall into bed. “We both have things we need to focus on.” He places a firm hand on my shoulder. Good luck at Nationals.”