Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
JENSEN
Ifeel sick as Kasen and I climb into my car, side by side like we’ve done a few times now. Only unlike the low-effort drives home, today has a lot of pressure attached. We’re going to deviate from the simple moments, and I need it to go well.
We head for the general store that has a bar along one wall, selling everything from hot dogs to sandwiches to cold meats, and down the end … ice cream. Sharon and Alison are sisters who own the place, and their philosophy is the more, the better.
“This okay?” I ask when we pull up out front.
“Where else are we going to go?”
I don’t point out that if he asked me to drive to Burlington, I would, and just let the question slide. “What’s your flavor?”
He shrugs those too-broad shoulders. “Dunno. I’ll have a look.”
“I always go for chocolate.”
“Basic.”
He’s trying to bait me into an argument, but it’s not going to work. This will go well, fuckdammit. “Ahh … I remember being fourteen and having big opinions on things.”
“Okay, Dad.”
I’m really, really starting to hate that word. “Now I know that I like what I like. Chocolate is the bomb. No point fucking around with the other flavors.”
“Yeah. Right.”
His disinterest will not get to me. I won’t let it. We reach the ice cream counter, and Kasen stares down at the six flavors there. I’m not sure if they rotate or not, but there’s chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry, then cookies and cream, boysenberry, and a caramel swirl. It’s not a hard choice.
But Kasen’s really thinking about it.
I place my order and turn to him. “Know what you want yet?”
“Nope.”
Mine is handed over. The girl serving us eyes him. “You can have a mix if you can’t choose,” she says.
“Just give me boysenberry.”
I could not think of anything worse. Guess he gets his taste buds from Carly.
She rings us up, I pay, and then we leave again.
“There’s a spot I like by the river. Want to stop there and eat?”
“You’re the one driving.”
It’s not a yes, but considering Kasen has no issues with telling me when he doesn’t want to do something, I’m going to assume it’s his way of agreeing without agreeing.
Are all kids this complicated?
I take him to the spot I always come with Barrett. There’s a family already here, a little way down, but otherwise, it’s just us. I try to play our usual game of letting everything go, but it’s a bit hard to do that when the person causing me the most stress right now is sitting next to me.
I pull up, turn off the car, then grab my ice cream and go sit on the hood. I have no idea if he’ll join me, but if Barrett’s theory was correct that he wants this, this will be my sign. He’ll willingly take the step.
And when I hear the car door pop open and close again, I try not to let my eagerness show on my face.
Without looking at him, I pat the spot beside me, and after a second, he takes it.
I know I should probably try for conversation, but I poke at my ice cream instead. I’m not exactly uncomfortable; it’s more that I’m sitting here next to him … and for the first time ever, he isn’t directing hate or anger my way.
I clear my throat, knowing I have to do something. “Do you ever come here?”
“Sometimes.”
“When I was in high school, this was my go-to spot.”
He hums disinterestedly.
“Barrett and I were best friends. Spent our whole summer here.”
“You know he’s gay?”
It’s so abrupt that I don’t know where he’s going with that. “I didn’t then, but I do now.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
I frown, turning to him. “Are you not?”
His eyes fly wide. “I am. I’m not a dick. I want to make sure that you are.”
Relief floods me. “It would be hypocritical if I wasn’t.”
“What do you—”
“I’m bi.” It’s not something I’m ashamed of, but I’ve never had experience with coming out to my own kid.
“Huh.” He pokes at his ice cream. “Google didn’t tell me that.”
“I’m not really out. Like, publicly. I don’t hide it, but I keep my relationships to myself.” Then I really process what he said. “You googled me?”
“Only about a million times.”
“Why?”
“Had to track you down. Had to figure if you were as much of a dick as I thought you were.”
“And am I?”
He looks away over the water. “Google didn’t tell me that either.”
“Well, there’s only one way to answer that question, isn’t there?”
That gets his attention back. “Which is?”
“We have to hang out more.”
He eyes me. “Do we?”
“If you want to find out if I’m a dick or not, it’s the only way.”
He doesn’t respond, and I’m searching my brain for something before the conversation can go dead, when Kasen’s the one who speaks.
“A guy on my team is gay.”
“Wow. Brave. I never could have come out at your age. Even if I’d known.”
“He’s only out to a few of us. Coach Barrett makes sure the locker room passes the vibe check though.”
“I’m glad.”
“Yeah.” He pokes at his ice cream again.
“Is it good?”
Kasen follows my gaze. “Yeah. Fine.”
It’s clearly a lie. “You don’t like it?”
He huffs. “So I didn’t know what boysenberry was. I thought it would be better than the caramel. It tastes like ass.”
I know from experience it doesn’t taste like ass at all, but that’s not a conversation I can have with him. “What do you normally get?”
He shrugs.
“You don’t know what you normally get?”
“Of course I know.”
“Then …”
He huffs and turns away from me.
“It’s not a hard question.” I nudge him. “Kasen?”
“Chocolate, okay? I get chocolate.”
I can only stare at his outburst. Then I break down laughing. “Wait. Tell me that you didn’t order some random flavor so we wouldn’t be the same?”
“It was weird.”
“Why is that weird?”
“Because I don’t even know you. I don’t want to order the same ice cream flavor as you.”
“Kasen.” I barely know where to start with how ridiculous that is. “The majority of people like chocolate. It’s, like, the universal flavor. Are you kidding me?”
“I panicked.”
Without a word, I take his ice cream and replace it with my chocolate one.
“What are you doing?”
“Swapping,” I say, feeling more relaxed than I have all day. “You can eat the basic one, and I’ll have the one that tastes like ass. Problem solved.”
He gives me that narrow-eyed assessing look, but I ignore it and dig in. I barely had any of mine because I was so fucking nervous, but that problem is long gone now.
No, the problem is that he’s right. This … isn’t nice. I force it down, though, because now that I’ve started, I notice him follow my lead.
“So, what about you?” I ask, finally relaxing. It’s easier to potentially embarrass myself when he went first. “Are you dating anyone?”
“Nope.”
“Do you want to?”
“Nope.”
Right. Good talk. Shit, it’s like one step forward and one step back.
“I practice too much for that.”
“How often do you practice?” I ask, latching onto it.
“Every day. M-mom”—he struggles over the word—“worked late. So I’d hang back. Work out. Skate. Whatever.”
“Dedicated.”
“I want to go all the way.”
I remember that. From when I was too young to know how unlikely it would be, right up until I was drafted.
Mom and Dad made me finish out my degree before I went to St. Louis, but it’s always been hockey for me.
“I get that,” I tell him. “I was exactly the same way. First one there, last one to leave. I never questioned if I could do it, I just did.”
“Right.”
“I don’t mean it in a cocky way. I mean that hockey was my passion.
It was like if I wasn’t playing, I was wasting my life.
So I played. And I practiced. And I dragged Barrett to the rink every damn weekend.
I got good, then I got really good, then, well …
” My name got to the right people, I was drafted, and the rest is history.
“Hockey just … answers something inside of me, you know?”
His voice scratches as he replies. “Yeah. I do.”
I look up, meeting his eyes and the all-too-familiar glare. This time, there’s something else looking back at me than straight up animosity. Our physical similarities are obvious, but I think for the first time, it’s hit us both how alike we really are.
Barrett loves hockey, but it was never in the same way I did. It was never that way for anyone else.
“I really love the sport,” I say.
He nods. “Coolest sport in the world.”
Then he digs the last of the ice cream out of the cup, slides off the hood, and moves back toward the door. “I need to get home.”
This time, I give him the one-word response. “Right.”
I don’t want to go yet. It feels like we’re close. So fucking close to something real. There’s an ache behind my sternum begging me to stay, but Kasen climbs inside the car, and it’s not really a choice anymore.
I follow him, setting the trash in the cup holder before leaving. The drive back to his place is silent until he pairs his phone with my car and puts his music on.
The moment is slipping away from me, and the last thing I want to do is to let it pass and have everything reset. To see him at training again and have him barely say a word to me.
So when I pull up, I grab my phone before he can climb out. “Here.”
“What?”
“Put your number in it.”
“Why?”
Oh, look, he’s making it hard, what a surprise. “So that I don’t have to put Barrett in a shitty position by asking him for it.”
Kasen almost rolls his eyes. “Why do you want it?”
“Oh, I don’t know, to signal fucking aliens.”
“Funny,” he deadpans. Then he types his number in and calls himself. “Can I go now?”
“Ice cream makes you a shithead. Got it.”
He gives in and actually rolls his eyes as he opens the door. “I’m a shithead always. Now you know.”
He jumps out and slams the door, but before he can disappear, I put down the window and yell after him, “And it’s not going to scare me! Now you know.”
He pauses when he reaches the front of the house, his key out, and throws a look back at me.
Then he’s gone, and I … think that might have gone well.