Chapter 18 #2
Christos eyes go wide. It’s a bit hard to see past the towel, but I swear he smiles. He shouts to the team, “Someone set a timer for ten!”
“Heard!”
By now, Leroy and another senior player have taken over.
Leroy has the guys practicing shots on one end of the rink while an assistant coach brings Terrence and the other guy to the locker room.
As he’s escorted out, Terrence glances over his shoulder, looking like a dead row inmate taking his last walk.
Apt, considering Terrence’s college hockey career is probably over.
“What are you doing here, Roderick?”
This space is far from private, but there’s a strange closeness. The clamoring Dingbats feel miles away. “I left you a note. In your office.”
“Is there a reason you didn’t text?”
“I kinda left the rink key too…”
He pulls the bloody towel from his nose. “How’s it looking?”
I blink, shocked at his coolness, and honestly… a bit disappointed. I lean down to get a closer look. “Uh, I think the bleeding has stopped? Hang on.” I put on the disposable gloves provided in the first aid kit and rip open an alcohol wipe. “Tell me if this hurts.”
The cold wipe makes him wince, but he doesn’t stir otherwise. I clean him up the best I can with the tiny wipe but he is still not pretty to look at.
He says in a low voice. “Am I all set, nurse?”
Who am I kidding? Even with his white fur stained with blood, he’s looking pretty.
I ball the wipe in my fist and pull the gloves off. “Maybe you should see a real nurse.”
He stands up and tugs at the hem of his jacket. The blood stain is obvious even on black fabric.
“I’ve got a spare in my office, come on.” Technically he’s not forcing me to follow but he doesn’t give me much time to say no, walking briskly back to his office. Once we’re out of earshot of the rink he adds, “You can grab the key while we’re up there.”
“Christos—”
“Wait.”
The rest of the walk back to his office is silent. Once he shuts the door to his office, the walls come down.
“I didn’t give you the rink key as some romantic gesture.” Fingers still bloody, he picks up the note, the loose key clattering to the desk. He gestures at it with the note. “Take it.”
I’m standing on the other side of the desk, flash-frozen as I watch him read the note. His eyes drag across the page, getting heavier and heavier with each new line. Only when he’s finished do I grab the key from the desk and bolt.
I’m halfway to the door when he asks, “Why didn’t you text?”
It takes a second for me to figure out he’s not talking about the note. Not that that clarity offers any answers.
“You could have texted me—I would have responded. Just like how you could have told me you didn’t like our rules and I would have listened! You have to tell me these things Christos.”
His shoulders slump. “I meant to text you after the game,” he says, deflated. “Tell you not to come over because I wasn’t in the mood. I’m sorry.”
I’m not sure I deserve an apology.
“You had every right to be upset. Upset with me, with the world…” I bite my lip, not sure if I push back. Ask him the thing I’d wished I’d asked him when we were fighting. “But why didn’t you tell me you hated the rules?”
He huffs, lifts his hand to fiddle with his hair but thinks better of it once he remembers the blood. Wiping his hand on his shirt he explains, “I thought they were the only way for us to be together. Like an ultimatum.”
“I didn’t mean for it to come off that way.” But I can’t blame him for thinking that. I barged into his place, I kissed him, I laid down the rules. “I thought that would protect us.”
His face sours, and I can tell he’s been holding onto this since our fight. “Us or you?”
“Me,” I admit. “I wanted you to like me. Me. Not the figure skating champion or the Olympian… You were so interested in my wins, and I needed to know you liked me without them.”
His brows furrow. “I liked you before I knew about that stuff.”
“But you liked me more once you knew.”
He places a bloody fist on his desk. It’s like he just now notices the mess, grabbing some cleaning wipes meant for furniture and wiping off his hands. The silence is tense, but I think we’re better for it.
Nonchalantly, he mentions, “I finished To Frost the Thaw.”
I breathe, “Really?”
“It was nice reading about people more miserable than me.” He finishes cleaning up his hands before facing me. “And… it’s still your favorite book.”
Now not having to worry about smearing blood around he rubs the back of his neck. “Look, Roderick, yes, I want you to win. Yes, you being at the top of your game is a turn-on.” He tilts his head, timid. “If it weren’t for the rink, maybe it would have been easier to ignore you on campus…”
My conversation with Alex comes flooding back. Who am I without figure skating? Who is Christos without hockey?
Except, I know exactly who he is. He’s the kind of guy who takes up birdwatching and likes to try new recipes.
He’s thoughtful. He’ll read 500 pages of Russian literature for a guy he likes.
He’s also a pushover and more anxious than he lets on.
I could have figured all this out and still let him open up about the team.
Offered him a shoulder to cry on when they suffered losses.
Celebrated his wins. Commiserated about how being at the top mostly means staring down eventual failure.
He continues, “you don’t need to be the best for me to—” He stops short like he’s just remembered something important. “For me to care about you.”
There’s so much weight in that four letter word.
It’s never mattered to me if Christos is the best coach in the league but…
maybe it should. It’s what he wants, and in that context, suddenly the Dingbats matter a lot more.
Alex was right. I’m not really me without figure skating.
I’d wanted him to know me better but denied him—denied the both of us, a huge portion of our lives.
I don’t realize my feet are moving till I’m in his space, reaching for his face.
With a nervous laugh he takes hold of my wrist. “Hey—windows.”
Practice is still underway downstairs. My hand drops to my side. “I hate that I can’t kiss you right now,” I grumble. “I hate the secrecy…”
He sighs, “That’s the one thing we can’t fix. If keeping this under wraps is too much for you—”
“Christos—”
He holds up a hand. “We can wait till you’ve graduated.”
“That’s over a year away!”
“You’re worth the wait.” It’s such a sweet sentiment, he just has to follow it up with something crude. “Plus you’ll be going to the Olympic Village soon. I wouldn’t want to hinder that.”
I frown. “Are you seriously telling me to go cruising in Milan?”
“I’ve always thought the curling team would give good handjobs.” He wraps his hand around an invisible broom and jerks it back and forth. “They got the motion down.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not going to convince me. Plus, we tried the whole ignoring our feelings thing already. Remember?”
“I know. But are you going to be happy if we keep this up?”
“Maybe!”
He holds my shoulders, and for the first time I see the coach in him. “Think about it. Then we can talk about what comes next.”
His massive fingertips dig into the muscles in my back, forcing myself to confront the tension I’ve been holding there for who knows how long. Maybe since Nationals, or our fight, or maybe since I let slip that first white lie to keep our relationship a secret.
One hand lets go, and at first I think he’s going to brush my bangs from my face, but he presses his thumb right on my hairline. “I’d kiss you right here…”
The pain on his face is unbearable. Maybe I can’t do this. Which is worse, a year apart or a year of moments like this? Of being so close to each other and aching to be closer, but having to resist to protect our reputations?
“I’ll think about it.” I step back, a strange sort of relief washing over me once our connection is broken.
“Right… Well.” He takes a deep breath and puts his hands on his hips. “I better get back down there. Gotta talk things out with Terrence and Distel.”
“You’re not going to suspend him?”
Christos snorts, but there is no joy in his words. “Oh, he’s suspended. Might suspend Distel too, depending on what he said that got Terrence all riled up.”
“I don’t envy you.”
“I don’t envy you either.”
I lift a brow. “Really? Apparently, I’m about to get some really good handjobs from the curling team. And you know, other stuff.”
He shakes his head, smiling to himself. “When I was twenty-one, I had a team I could fall back on. You’re on your own out there on the ice. I don’t know how you do it.”
“I don’t know how you wrangle twenty-three hockey players.”
“You saw firsthand that I don’t.”
“They still practicing down there?”
I can already see the guys lined up, navigating the puck around cones. A bunch of college guys just watched a fight and instead of devolving into gossip or calling it quits, they’re practicing like they’ve got a playoff game tomorrow.
I tell him, “You’re a good coach.”
He opens up his desk drawer, smiling to himself as finally grabs his spare shirt.
Even if I’ve seen him shirtless, I take that as my cue to leave.
I’ve got one foot out the door when I remember I’m actually the one who spilled our secret.
Instead of an apology, I offer him something entirely different.
“You can tell Bekken about us.”
He already has his shirt pulled up over his lower stomach but now stares at me confused.
“Since Alex knows… It’s only fair.”
He drops the hem of his shirt. “Since your successful friend knows I should tell my most successful friend. Is that the logic?”
“Yes…I dunno. Is there anyone you want to know about us?”
“Since we’re laying it all out in the open, I don’t mind that she knows. I care that you didn’t tell me.”
Before I have a moment to process this information he adds, “Now, Roderick.” He says my name with such sweetness. “Get out of my office.”
I purse my lips and nod, closing the door behind me as I exit.
It sounds like practice has concluded, my footsteps echoing as I head back downstairs.
On my way out, I notice they’ve put up a new team photo for the season.
Hanging beside the previous year’s team photos, it’s striking how different they are.
Old coach Finke isn’t even smiling, as if that shows weakness.
Somehow, I leave the rink the same way I entered, with the key in my hand and a whirlwind of emotions in my chest. At least now, bliss is one of those feelings. It might be fighting against heartache and uncertainty, but it is there. I think they call that hope.