Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
I like seeing Captain in his baggy hoodies, with that fluffy bit of hair sticking out. He has this look like he always just got out of bed, except when he’s on the ice, then he comes alive.
I had always thought he hated me because of our rivalry on the ice, but I’m starting to see it goes a lot deeper than that. He doesn’t like me. Not the rival hockey player - the person.
I show up early to our next practise and Austin’s out on the ice already, taking shots at an empty goal.
“It’s a lot easier without a goalie,” I shout.
He was in the zone and he flinches when he hears my voice. His face like thunder when he turns around.
He’s wearing his helmet without the cage or a mouth guard and his cheeks are red from exertion. I imagine that’s what he looks like after sex, without the helmet, probably.
“Are you just gonna stand there and stare?” he asks.
Fuck, that accent is sexy . I keep the grin painted on my face, despite the fact his voice makes my legs feel kind of wobbly.
“No, I’m going to go and get changed.”
He looks away without responding.
“Want me to put the goalie pads on and get between the pipes?”
His head snaps up. “I wouldn’t touch Olivetti’s shit if I were you.”
I laugh, because, yeah, I know, goalies are weird about - well, everything.
“Fine, I’ll put my own jersey on.”
“ Not a Yale one!”
There’s the familiar sound of a puck being smacked against the boards as I make my way to the locker room.
A couple of the guys have arrived and I get taunts of - “hey it’s Yale. ” So I guess this is my new nickname then? Original.
Captain comes in about ten minutes later, looking flushed, but not out of breath.
I’m amused when they refer to him as Donno.
“Good pre-practise Captain?” I ask.
He shoots me a cloudy look and I can see he wants to ignore me, but realizes he probably shouldn’t. Whether he likes me or not, I am on his team, and I haven’t technically done anything wrong, yet.
“I see you got yourself some new jerseys.”
“Coach gave them to me.”
“You can burn the Yale ones now,” someone says. I still haven’t learnt all my teammates’ names, and with my track record, is there really any point? Who knows how long I’ll even be here?
“Then what would your sister wear when she stays over?” I ask.
The face of the guy I just insulted is bright red, and I think I might have misjudged how far I could push him.
Captain steps between us. “You’re not playing at Yale anymore, Huntington the third.” His lips curl into a nasty smirk and the guys snicker behind him. If my insides didn’t feel like they were turning to water, I’d remind him that he said he’d never call me that.
“We don’t insult our own teammates’ sisters here.”
I hold my hands up. “I apologize, I didn’t know.”
Austin looks me up and down like he’s trying to consider if I’m being serious.
“It was a stupid joke, I don’t even like girls.”
Austin rolls his eyes as he walks past to get to his cubby.
“Seriously, I’m gay.”
His eyes flicker back to me and his expression changes. The guys all start to shuffle and back away. Was it okay to intimidate and bully me when they thought I was straight? But now I’m telling them I’m not, they’re scared of being labelled homophobic? Or are they all just trying to think of the best way to cover up without me noticing?
“So like, don’t lock your sisters up.”
Everyone falls back to their own cubby and starts getting changed. Some of them are definitely trying to cover themselves as they slip out of hoodies and sweatpants and into their pads and jerseys.
“And don’t worry, I’m not checking any of you out, you’re all butt-ugly.” Except maybe Captain Donoghue.
I get a couple of snickers at that, but when I look at Captain, his face is like thunder again.
I work my ass off in practise, and every time Donoghue comes near me, he averts his eyes. Jesus Christ, is he that uncomfortable being on a team with a gay guy? I would try to mess with him like I usually do, but it just doesn’t feel as fun like this.
Coach Wilson has us doing bag skates at the end of practise, and by the time we come off the ice, everyone’s too exhausted to keep up the bullshit.
I finish showering first and head back into the locker room with my towel, keeping my eyes on my cubby as I change.
Coach comes in and sees me there alone. “Huntington, everything alright?”
“Yes Coach.”
The others start to trickle in from their showers, nodding to Coach on their way to their cubbies.
"Come speak to me in my office when you’re dressed,” Coach says.
Shit, am I in trouble already?
He’s alone in his office this time when I step inside.
“Take a seat,” he says. His desk is pretty organized for a hockey coach. I note the framed photographs of his daughters. No wife. No wedding band. He’s wearing a nice, but not ostentatious or overly expensive suit. His thinning hair neatly combed over.
“How are you getting on?” he asks.
“Good, thank you.”
He looks down at the desk and his ears get red as he speaks. “I heard you had a little trouble at Yale.”
Coach is a pretty softly-spoken guy. From what I remember of our games against his team, he wasn’t the kind to shout a lot from the sidelines. But his voice is even quieter now.
A wave of shame washes through me and I keep my gaze trained on my knees.
“You don’t have to say anything, I just want you to know if you ever need to talk, I’m your coach now, and… well, my door is always open if you need it.”
“Oh.” Well fuck, what do I say to that? “Thanks Coach.”
I want to ask him how much he knows about my ‘trouble’ at Yale. And is he telling me this because he’s scared my dad will sue him if I make accusations?
“But I’m fine, honestly, all that’s in the past now and I’m just here to play hockey, and not cause any trouble.”
He sighs and his entire body seems to relax.
“I think we can make that work,” he says, coming round the desk to pat me on the shoulder. So he’s not scared to touch me then?
On my way out, I catch Austin and a few of the other guys leaving.
The one whose sister I insulted asks me if I want to grab lunch with them at the cafeteria. Is this some weird hazing thing? Coach is still standing there, watching us, so I don’t have much choice but to say yes.
“What do you feel like?” One of the guys asks.
“How about bagels?” Austin suggests. He says it like begels. Cute, but I’m still kind of pissed with him.
We all agree on begels and Captain leads the way to a cafeteria on the third floor of the business school building just around the corner from the arena. It’s nothing like the draughty dining experience at Yale. The long tables like something from a Tudor drama. With the house flags and ornate awnings. Probably reminiscent of a lot of the students’ parents’ highland castles.
We get our b a gels in the modern, diner-like cafeteria and take up a booth. A group of tall, bulky guys draw attention, and I’m reminded of how much this is a hockey-oriented school by how everyone seems to know these guys. Like they’re local celebrities. It wasn’t really like that at Yale. Now the football team… that was a different story. Those guys would walk into the dining hall and panties, (and some boxer briefs), would drop in unison.
“So Donno,” one of the guys I’ve now realized is Gray says. “We goin’ out tonight or what?”
Austin looks very invested in his begel.
All he has to do is shrug and Gray slaps his hand on the table. “Yes!”
Do these guys do everything he says without question? What is this? A cult? A fraternity?
“You comin’ Yale?” Gray asks, his eyes meet mine for a millisecond before he looks away.
“I guess as I’m the new guy I have to buy the drinks right?”
They all start blinking rapidly and looking at each other.
Austin slaps me on the back. “So you guys have that tradition at Yale too?”
Some of the guys can’t hide the laughter behind their hands. I go along with it, pretending they’ve pulled the wool over my eyes.