Chapter 8
Rhys — Past
"Alright, play nice and welcome our new teammates!" Coach Mercer yells, sharply, with a hint of humor. "Don't scare them, boys." He disappears down the corridor and I'm suddenly left alone in the pit of vipers.
Being on the Eldridge hockey team is both a dream and a nightmare.
The locker room is filled with intimidating, broad-shouldered giants — it's impossible not to feel smaller when literally no one is less than six feet tall.
The best of the best in the state. I knew it would be competitive.
I knew I'd have to fight tooth and nail to earn my place.
What I didn't know is how lonely it would feel already.
There are only two other guys starting fresh with me.
Louis and Dylan. Both of their brothers are on the team, which means they walked in already belonging to something.
I’m the only one on the team who doesn’t know everyone; the only odd man out.
The only person in the locker room who doesn’t already know where to sit.
The only one nobody’s looking for after practice.
The only one walking back to the dorm by himself every night.
And telling everyone I was gay when they already looked at me like I didn’t belong here never crossed my mind, not even once. Didn’t want to give them more reasons.
It's fine. I came here for hockey and chemistry only. Head down, numbers up. That's the plan.
I repeat that to myself forty times in the first two weeks.
Then another week goes by. And another.
The aching in my chest starts to feel a little worse.
Just this dull, hollow feeling that follows me everywhere.
The emptiness of not having anyone to talk to just quietly threatening to swallow me whole.
It’s a different kind of loneliness when there are people everywhere and nobody reaches for you.
Like there’s space in the room for everyone except you.
But I keep reminding myself. Hockey. Chemistry. Best team in the state. It's enough fuel to keep me going.
I transferred here straight from college, so it’s my first year at university. Technically, I’m a junior. But realistically, it feels like I’m more of a freshman.
I demolish in our first few games playing center.
I thought maybe showing the team I could handle my own would get me somewhere.
If anything it made things worse — I went from invisible to inconvenient.
All of the senior teammates didn't appreciate a new guy coming in on center and catching scout attention.
Everything I did was wrong, wrong, wrong.
I decided then to stop trying. Stop reaching out. Just show up, play, leave.
Marcus Hale was the captain.
I'd been aware of him since day one — not because you're looking, just because that's where everything and everyone pointed to.
Junior. Center. The kind of player that made the ice look smaller because he covered so much of it.
During practice he was everywhere — calling plays, fixing positioning, moving between guys with this quiet authority that I was pretty sure couldn't be taught.
It shouldn't have mattered to me as much as it did. But I kept noticing him anyway.
One day after practice I walked to my car and he was already there.
Posted up against the driver's side, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded, watching me come across the lot like he'd been waiting a while, but was nonchalant about it.
I kept my pace. I was not going to be the guy who got nervous around the captain.
I was a little nervous, though.
"Hey, man." He pushed off when I got close.
Up close he was all muscle and easy confidence and eyes that looked right at you.
One dimple, deep groove in his left cheek, only on one side.
"Listen, I feel guilty. They're not bad guys, I swear.
They're just set in their ways, so it's hard for them to open up to newbies.
We've all been here together for years, so it's a close-knit group.
It's just a bit of light hazing, don't take it personal.
" He gave me that dimpled smile and lightly pushed my shoulder.
"Yeah, sure. It's fine. No big deal, I get it."
"So." He tilted his head. "How about I make it up to you?"
I shrugged, feeling shy and exposed all of a sudden. "What do you mean?"
He stepped a little closer, voice dropping slightly. "I mean, want to go eat? Quick? There's a burger place on campus. I promise I'll show you we're not all so bad."
I pretended to take a couple of seconds to think about it. Like I wasn't foaming at the mouth for a friend. Like I wasn't desperate for even a drop of the captain's attention.
"Fine," I said. "Lead the way, Captain." I made a grand gesture, waving him forward, and he let out a small laugh and shook his head.
I followed close behind as we wound through campus — tall buildings and greenery, students sprawled on the hillside with blankets and books like they had nowhere to be.
We walked in silence and I used this time to fully appreciate Marcus.
He was literally made of muscle — thick everywhere, all legs and back — sinewy and veiny and moving fluidly like someone who'd never once been unsure of where he was going.
Tanned, short brown hair, caramel eyes. From what I'd seen he was effortlessly charming.
Everyone loved him — Coach, the team, a rotating parade of friends who hung around after games like planets around a sun.
While the rest of the team had given me the cold shoulder, Marcus had been warmer.
Not exactly friendly. But present. Encouraging during practice. Loud about it during games.
Maybe I'd been too focused on the negative. Maybe things were looking up, finally.
The door dinged when we came in.
Burger place. Heavy on the grease, light on the ambiance, exactly what a campus burger place should be.
Mostly empty except for a couple in the corner sharing a strawberry milkshake while aggressively making out and didn't care who knew it.
We took stools at the counter, clear view of the burnt grill, sticky plastic menus waiting for us.
"So." Marcus leaned an elbow on the counter and turned toward me. "Apart from the assholes on the team, how are you liking Eldridge?"
"Great." I made no effort to hide the sarcasm.
He hummed and didn’t push it. "Mhm. What are you majoring in?"
"Chemistry."
His face lit up. "No way. We have a genius on the team. The best GPA we have right now is probably a 2.0." He bumped his shoulder into mine. "The bar is literally on the floor, Rhys, congrats."
I snorted before I could stop it, and the first real smile I’d had in weeks slipped loose with it. "Shut up. I'm just good with equations, I like figuring out problems."
"Good at hockey and equations. Do you have any flaws or are you doing this on purpose, Rhys?"
Another laugh came out of me that was embarrassingly genuine.
And the way he kept saying my name — coupled with the first real compliment I'd gotten since I got here — had me looking away before he could see the color creeping up my neck.
He took the menu out of my hands and set it down.
"You don't need that, everything's good.
Trust me. What do you want, burger or burger? "
"Tough call."
"I know, take your time."
"Burger," I announced, like it was a hard decision to make.
"Excellent choice." He flagged down the guy behind the counter without looking, easy and leisurely, the kind of person who never has to work for anyone's attention.
It just comes. We ordered two smash burgers and fries to share.
Marcus vetoed milkshakes on the grounds of being student athletes, which I pouted about.
"Ok so, flaws, give it to me straight then.” Marcus continued.
"I'm terrible in the morning."
"Everyone's bad at mornings."
"I'm like impressively bad. Like I won’t get out of bed on my own until afternoon and I have to have a coffee before I do anything at all."
He grinned. "Noted. I'll warn the team." He leaned forward on the counter, chin in his hand, looking at me sideways. "What else?"
"What else what?"
"Flaws. You said terrible in the mornings like that was going to satisfy me. Keep going, I want the full picture. I want to know everything about you."
I thought about it. "I laugh at my own jokes."
"I noticed already. I like it."
I looked at him. He looked back, like he hadn't just said anything.
"I also," I said, recovering quickly, "have very strong opinions about music that nobody asked for and will share them anyway."
"Such as?"
"Such as the aux cable is a privilege and most people should not be trusted with it."
"And you should be trusted with it?"
"Absolutely. Without question. I have excellent taste."
"Everyone thinks they have excellent taste."
"Everyone is wrong and I am right."
He shook his head, smiling at the counter. "You know what, I believe you." He glanced at me sideways again. "I actually completely believe you, Rhys. So what kind of music do you like then?”
“Mostly rock, I guess. Some metal.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “That tracks.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. Feels right for you.”
I rolled my eyes.
"Good. We finally found a real flaw."
"What?"
"You do that every time I compliment you."
I blinked. "Do what?"
"Deflect." His smile softened. "I say something nice and you immediately make a joke."
The heat crawled up my neck so fast it was embarrassing. "That's not true."
"It's absolutely true." Marcus looked unbearably pleased with himself. "See?"
Our food showed up a minute later, baskets hitting the counter still hot enough for steam to curl up off the fries. Marcus reached over immediately, stealing two off my plate before the waitress had even fully set his burger down in front of him, looking unrepentant about it.
"Those were mine! You have your own," I whined.
"Captain's tax."
"That's not a thing."
"It's absolutely a thing, it's been a thing since I was made captain, ask anyone."
"I'm asking you and you made it up, right now."
"I made it up and then it became a thing. That's called leadership, Rhys. You should be amazed." He beamed a sly, dimpled smile at me.
I stole four of his fries and held them in my hands.
He watched me do it and said nothing, just picked up his burger, and snatched one quickly with his mouth when I wasn’t looking, with a bright look in his eyes and a smile full of fries.
We ate for a while in the comfortable way — not needing to fill every second, enjoying each other’s company without it being weird.
I hadn't had that with anyone here yet. Hadn't had it in a while if I was being honest.
"Ok, your turn, Captain." I set my burger down and winked at him. "Tell me about yourself."
"Ok, well. I'll show you how it's done.” He returned the wink.
"Marcus Hale. Beloved captain of the hockey team. Nursing major. Graduating next year.” Then his expression softened just slightly.
"My dad has Alzheimer's. I want to be able to take care of him properly when he gets to the point where he can't take care of himself.”
A second later he leaned back again like he hadn’t just knocked the air out of my lungs a little. “Other important facts about me: I like hiking, basically every sport on earth, and humiliating people at beer pong.”
I applauded. He clapped me on the back, his fingers lingering there a second before he pulled them back.
After the laughing settled I looked sideways at him, directly into those caramel eyes.
"No, you're right. Definitely better than mine." I meant it. I hesitated for half a second before adding, “And I’m sorry about your dad. That’s… really something. Choosing nursing because of him, I mean.”
Marcus looked at me then with this strange expression I couldn’t immediately place. Head tilted slightly, mouth pulled at one corner like he was studying me closer than before.
Or maybe like he suddenly wanted to.
"Thank you, Rhys. Really."
After a while I set my burger down again and took a breath.
"You shared something real, so I will too.
" I looked at the counter. "I got into hockey because of my uncle, when I was six.
He died when I was fifteen and I didn't play for a whole year after.
I thought I'd never play again — thought it would just hurt every time I got on the ice.
" I shrugged. "Eventually, I played anyway.
Turned out the ice was the only place it didn't hurt as bad. "
"No," Marcus said, shaking his head. "It didn’t stop hurting, that’s just the only place you could use the pain, channel it into something good.”
I looked at him again. He was watching me with that same expression. The moment felt so heavy all of a sudden — chest tight, the way he was looking at me overwhelming in a way I hadn't expected, hadn't braced for. I grinned and bumped his shoulder to break the spell. He bumped back.
We walked back to my car after and the air was different.
Charged in a way that hadn't existed two hours ago.
I could feel it in the quiet. In the way we kept looking at each other and then away again.
In the extra half second he stood too close every time we stopped walking.
When we got back to the car he had his hands in his pockets and was looking somewhere just past me and shifted slightly closer.
"That was really nice," he said. "It was really nice talking to you, Rhys.
I'm glad this happened." The full dimpled smile again, aimed right at me.
I looked up at him in disbelief. "Wow. That's a lot. And two reallys."
"Shut up." I smiled when he groaned.
"I had a really, really, nice time too, Marcus."
He stood there one second longer than he needed to. Then gave a small wave and jogged back toward the athletic building.
I watched him go.
I got in my car and sat there without starting it. Hands loose on the steering wheel. Heart still beating a little too hard for a conversation over burgers and stolen fries.
Hockey, I told myself. Chemistry.
It sounded a lot less convincing than it did this morning.