Austin
AUSTIN
I wait until everyone’s in the locker room to make an announcement.
“We need to talk about what’s been going on in this team, and it can’t wait. If we go out there tonight the way we’ve been going on, then we won’t be doing justice to the school colors.”
My teammates look at me like I’ve lost my mind. I try to ignore the confused faces and go on.
“We’re a team. And if we’re gonna be a real team, we need to support each other, even when someone’s playing better than we are. We need to put the team before our own personal needs. If you don’t wanna do that, then go and play tennis or gymnastics or some shit. And if you wanna play hockey, and you can’t handle constructive criticism from your coach, or decisions you don’t like that are for the greater good of the team, then you don’t have what it takes to play pro and you never will.”
A couple of the guys bristle, Hayes especially, but I’m not backing down. I mean what I’m saying, and they need to hear it.
“I don’t know if I’m gonna get signed by the start of next season, but I wouldn’t be worthy if I blamed everyone but myself. When you’re down, you need to use it as inspiration to improve, not sulk and try to change everything around you. You don't have the power to do that, no one does. So right now, you think about the team, I think about the team. This is my team, right now, and I’m gonna bust my balls to make it the best team it can be, even if that means I’m not fit to be the captain, or to play on the first line, or even do anything but warm the bench. If that’s what my team needs, then that’s what I’m gonna give it, and I’m gonna give it one hundred percent while I’m at it.”
I don’t expect a round of applause, but the awkward silence that follows as I take my place at my cubby is cold.
Coach makes us all jump as he pushes through the door.
“Well said Captain Donoghue. Now, do we have any objections to that?”
Coach looks around at a room of shaking heads.
“Good, let’s go out there and kick Dartmouth’s butts.”
The game ends 2-2. Sebastian scores the leveler and whether it’s forced or not, the team congratulate him in the locker room.
I’m heading out in my hoody with my bag over my shoulder when he comes jogging beside me to catch up.
“Hey, thanks.”
“What for?”
“You know what for.”
“It wasn’t for you,” I say. Realizing how hard my tone sounds, I soften it. “I wasn’t doing my job as captain. I should have never let them try to bully you out.” That’s already happened to him once before, I can’t let it happen again. “And we’ve got a deal, remember?”
He nods. “Hey, what are you doing now?”
“Right now? Eating pizza and falling asleep in front of the TV.”
“Wanna come back to my place and play NHL 25? ”
I hesitate. This guy definitely needs a friend, but that doesn’t mean it has to be me. I look around and don’t find anyone else volunteering for the job. We made a deal right? He stops being a dickhead and I go to bat for him. I didn’t consider it spreading off the ice, but…
“Sure.”
I try not to catch that flicker of a smile before he hides it.
He drives us to some nice apartment complex off campus. Inside, it’s small, with a couch at the end of a double bed and a TV fixed to the wall with a PS5 and a coffee table. A little kitchen along one wall.
“It’s just a studio,” he says.
“It’s nice. I guess you grew up in a mansion right?”
He shrugs as he throws his bag down and makes his way to the fridge. “ Meh , I mostly lived in the pool house.”
He’s not even fucking joking about the pool house.
“Want one?” He turns with a bottle of Corona in hand.
“It’s Wednesday night.”
“Live a little, we don’t have a game until Saturday.”
I hesitate.
“If you say no I’m lighting a cigarette.”
I laugh. “Fuck you.”
“I’m kidding, you don’t have to have one if you don’t want.”
“Throw me one.”
He opens a bottle and passes it to me, his fingertips brushing mine.
I take a sip as he sinks into the couch and turns the PS5 on.
“What’s that? Farming Simulator ?”
“Fuck you, it relaxes me.” He picks up the controller and changes the game.
I’d laugh, but it’s kind of sad, imagining him in here by himself, playing Farming Simulator while we all hang out.
“I’m guessing you want to be your draft team.”
“Actually, I’m usually the Devils, but don’t tell anyone.”
He smirks. “My lips are sealed, you know my secret, I’m sure I can keep yours.”
That video comes to mind. How I’ve tried not to imagine what’s on it. How did someone film them? Where were they? In public? What were they doing exactly? I can’t ask him, obviously, and maybe not knowing is better. Stops the imagination working overtime.
“I’m Rangers, of course.”
“Of course.” I clear my throat, sure my face is red.
Sebastian kicks my ass. I didn’t play many video games as a kid. I was too busy playing actual hockey. We finish a game just as the pizza shows up, then we stuff our faces in silence while the pause screen plays NHL music in the background.
“Will you get me tickets when you’re playing in the NHL?” Sebastian asks after he wipes the back of his mouth with his arm.
“I thought rich people had table manners?”
“Huh?”
I gesture to the tomato stain smeared across his pale forearm and he laughs.
When he gets up to grab a cloth, I catch a sliver of skin between his sweatpants and the t-shirt he must have bought recently at the college store with our hockey logo across the front.
Something fizzles in the bottom of my stomach and I look away.
“Why did you change the subject?” he asks as he sits back down.
“What?”
“That speech you gave in the locker room - very rousing by the way - you said you didn’t know if you were getting signed, why wouldn’t you get signed? You’re the best player in the league, captaining the best team.”
“So what?” I wipe my mouth with the cloth he hands me. “There’s a million good players out there, not just high-school kids either, there’s a ton of great players in the AHL, the ECHL-”
“But they’re not you.”
Something lurches in my chest and I can’t look at him.
“You wanna know why I gave you shit during my games with Yale?”
“Because you’re a dick?”
He flashes me one of those annoying grins. “No, asshole . It was because I couldn’t beat you fairly. You’re too good.”
I swallow. I haven’t verbalized this to anyone but Alyssa. The only other person I can imagine telling is my ma and she already has enough on her plate without me having an existential crisis. “I don’t feel like it sometimes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why haven’t they signed me yet?”
“I don’t know. It’s the NHL, they own your ass, it’s a predatory system and everyone knows it.”
I frown and he laughs.
“Hey, this is just coming from a guy who didn’t get drafted.”
“Maybe they didn’t think you’d take it seriously?”
“Maybe.” He takes a sip from his beer. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Even if I got drafted, my dad would have wanted me to work for him.”
“Why?”
“So he can own my ass.” He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. A realization hits me then that maybe none of those smiles, grins, whatever, ever reached his eyes. Like he was never really happy. That feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when I look at him, I fucking know what that is. I’m an idiot for lying to myself for so long.
“What?”
“What?”
“You were staring at me.”
I clear my throat and turn back to the TV.
“.”
My heart pounds at the sound of my name in his mouth, and when I turn my head, he’s there, closer than I thought he’d be. The freckles dotted along the top of his nose and cheeks. That ache I always passed off as pure anger whenever I’d face off against him and he’d look me right in the eye. Blond hair, brown eyes. I hated him because I thought he had everything. But knowing he doesn’t only makes it harder.
He's looking at me, waiting for something. I lean over and press my mouth against his. He’s still and his lips are so fucking warm and soft like I knew they’d be. Panic spreads through me and I pull away. He pulls me back by my hoody and kisses me properly. Just lips at first, massaging mine, sending tingles through my skin right down to the pit of my stomach. Then tongue. Inching into my mouth. Making me exhale, deep into his mouth. He makes a little noise of appreciation. It vibrates through me and my cock aches.
I pull away.
“Fuck.”
“Okay?”
I nod. “I uh-”
“You gotta go, yeah, okay.”
“No.” I frown. “Fuck, I don’t know what I-”
“It’s okay, seriously, just forget about it if you want.”
How do I get him to shut the fuck up? oh yeah…
I grab his face and kiss him again, feeling his breath in my mouth, the heat radiating off his body as I press my chest against his, guiding him back on the couch. He opens his legs and wraps them around me. His cock is hard as it presses against me and it feels… not weird, but different. Not like I’d expected it to feel when I thought about it before.
I pull away, my head spinning as I look down at him. This guy I fucking hated. Big stupid doe eyes and pillowy lips. Now all I want to do is kiss every inch of that annoying face. Take his clothes of and…
“What’s wrong? Do I taste like pizza?”
I sit up. “It’s not that, I… I’m not gay.” I try to ignore how my cock is trying to make me look like a liar.
“I’ve thought about it, with guys I mean. That was one reason why I needed time away from Alyssa. I needed to know-”
“Ah, I see.”
“What?”
“You needed to have your bisexual awakening or college experiment or whatever before you settled down with a woman.”
“No, it’s not like that.”
He shrugs. “You can have it with me if you want.”
I entertain the idea for a second before dismissing it.
“No, it’s a bad idea. It’ll affect the team.”
“Okay, tell your dick that.”
I pull a cushion from behind me and cover myself with it.
Sebastian shuffles on the couch, rearranging himself. At least I’m not the only one sporting a raging erection right now.
“If you don’t want it to be me, I can help you… figure things out.”
I swallow. “How?”
He shrugs. “Download some hook-up apps and I’ll help you navigate-”
“No, the whole reason I’ve never… you know, before, is because I never met a guy I liked enough to-”
“Have you liked every girl you’ve ever had sex with?”
My face heats up.
“Is Alyssa the only girl you’ve ever-”
“Yeah, okay?”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I know.”
“Do you think that’s making it harder to get over her though? Because she’s the only person you’ve ever slept with?”
“I don’t know, maybe.”
My head’s spinning. I drop my face into my hands and sigh.
“It’s alright,” Sebastian says, his hand on my back. “I won’t tell anyone. And we can just forget about this.”
“I think we should focus on the team,” I say, even though it feels like I’ve just dropped a boulder into the pit of my stomach.
He nods. “Okay.”
Fuck.
My head’s all over the place. I didn’t sleep well last night after… yeah, I can’t even verbalize it to myself.
I’m exhausted when I get to Coach’s house just off campus. The busses aren’t running and I get a ride with a few of the guys who are car-pooling. Except a few freshman whose parents came to get them and bring them home for Thanksgiving, nobody had time to make it back.
I wonder if Coach invited Seb and if he’ll be there when we arrive. The thought makes my stomach swoop, and I can’t decide if it’s a sick sort of swoop, or an excited one.
The guys are in a good mood and no one brings him up, which is fine by me.
But an hour into sitting around Coach’s dining table, eating turkey and mashed potatoes, I’m wondering where he is and why he isn’t here.
I follow Coach out to the kitchen when he starts bringing our dirty plates out to put in his fancy dishwasher.
“You didn’t invite Huntington today?” I ask as casually as I can manage.
Coach has his back turned, loading the dishwasher.
“I did, but he said he was busy.”
Busy?
“You think he went home?”
I think about the little bits of information he gave me about his family and I can’t imagine being in a rush to spend time with them if I were him.
“Maybe.” He turns around and gives me a look I don’t like. It’s asking too many questions. Threatening to see too much. I try to change the subject.
“You’re not seeing your daughters today?”
I know it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as the words leave my mouth. Coach’s face drops, but he recovers quickly.
“No, I’ll see them the weekend.”
I nod. Understanding why he invited a bunch of college kids to his home on Thanksgiving. He would have been alone otherwise. Like I imagine Sebastian’s alone right now. Playing Farming Simulator and eating pizza from the only place open on public holidays.
We start to head out once the desert’s been eaten and the guys who are old enough to drink start itching for a beer where their coach can’t see them.
He reminds us not to get too drunk on our way out and the guys barely suppress their groans. He’s a fucking stick in the mud, but he’s a good guy, and I feel bad about leaving him alone in that big house without his family on Thanksgiving, but what else am I supposed to do?
Ma calls when I get back to my room. She sounds like she’s had a few beers and I can hear my family in the background, laughing and joking. They’re fucking loud, but I miss them.
“The one year I get off from the diner and you’re not even here.”
“I know.”
“I guess I’ll have to get used to it, you’ll be playing Thanksgiving games every year when you’re in the NHL.”
My stomach twists and I think she’s about to ask me what’s wrong when someone shouts something to her and she gets distracted.
“I’d better go Ma, I’m gonna get an early night for practise tomorrow.”
“Okay, be good, love ya.”
“You too.”
I tell myself it’s no big deal. It’s only Thanksgiving. Most years I’d spend it coloring with my crayons at the shittiest table in the diner while Ma bussed tables, painting a smile on for the customers before we took the leftovers home and ate in front of the TV. But it was still a tradition – our tradition. I wonder again what Sebastian’s doing right now.
In the quiet of my room, I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. How fucking soft his lips were. The smell of his aftershave up close and the heat of his body. Fuck.
When I thought about guys before, I never really had a face to put to those fantasies, and they were always vague. Detached.
But I fucking know his face. I know what his body looks like, what it feels like. And I can’t stop thinking about it.
I strip out of the jeans and shirt I wore for dinner at Coach’s house and slip into bed, trying to relax.
Gray turning the TV on loud and shouting through a headset while he plays Call of Duty should ruin the mood, but it’s in my head now, so I get in the shower, Gray ignoring me while he zeroes in on some soldiers or whatever the fuck you do in that game.
Letting the water run over me, I let my mind wander, telling myself it’s just a fantasy as I imagine Yale in the shower with me, pressed against the tiles with my cock in his hand as I come.
When I get to the locker room the next day, Sebastian’s already at his cubby, his shirt off. I tell myself his body isn’t any different from the other guys I’ve undressed around for years, but I can’t pretend anymore, not to myself.
He looks up and I look away.
After the game in Lowell against UMass, they come to us Monday, which means the weekend’s a bust. But honestly, I’d rather spend the weekend playing hockey, or prepping for a game, than thinking about anything else.
Since my little speech, the guys are all doing a good job at pretending they don’t hate Sebastian’s guts. But the stilted, overly-polite words of encouragement during drills doesn’t fool me, and I’m sure it doesn’t fool him either.
Usually, we go eat after practise, but a few of the guys make excuses about having classes I know they don’t have, or catching up on work they probably don’t care about and we splinter off.
Sebastian walks towards his car and I’m torn about letting him go or calling him back. I’m his captain, and kissing him was bad enough, but ignoring him now because of it? Not cool.
“Hey Seb, wait up!”
He turns with a wry grin. “Seb?”
“What? Doesn’t anyone ever call you that?”
“My sisters maybe.”
“Too familiar?”
“No.” Are his cheeks getting pink? I never thought someone like him could be capable of blushing. My stomach knots.
“Wanna grab some food?”
“What? You don’t have an imaginary class you have to get to?”
“They’ll pull their heads out of their asses eventually.”
He laughs. “That’s not a pretty visual.”
“No.”
“Hop in, I’ll drive us wherever you want to go.”
I hesitate before getting in his car. That enclosed space. It’s gonna smell like his aftershave. His bag of sweaty clothes.
The car smells like new leather and pine cones. Not like him at all. Thank fuck.
“Same playlist?” I ask when a song I don’t recognize starts to play.
“No, actually this one’s called neck kisses, coffee dates and midnight car rides. ”
He clears his throat and I look out of the window. “Oh. Do you come up with these names?”
“Yep, I’m creative as well as sporty.”
My lips turn up on one side, but luckily I have time to roll my eyes before he looks at me.
The song is kind of relaxing and I don’t realize I’m tapping my hand on the door until I catch Sebastian watching me.
“It’s Julia Jacklin,” he says.
“Huh?”
“The singer, Julia Jacklin.”
“Oh, it’s… nice.”
He laughs. “What do you listen to?”
I shrug. “Different stuff, mostly country.”
“Country!”
“What?”
“Nothing, I just didn’t have you down as a country fan, is that what the kids in Jersey are listening to these days?”
“Kids?”
He grins at me in the rear-view and I fucking hate the way my stomach swoops when he does that.
“People in Jersey don’t all listen to the same music you know, just like people in… wherever you’re from, Manhattan-”
“Manhattan? I wish. My parents live in New Haven.”
“Oh, I apologize, I got the wrong rich asshole neighborhood.” I feel bad the second I say it, but Sebastian lets out a hoot.
“You wouldn’t even believe the level of rich asshole living in my parents’ neighborhood.”
I shuffle in my seat. “I can imagine.”
“So why country?”
“My ma loves country music, she sings.”
“Is she good?”
“Yeah, she’s really good.”
“Does she do it professionally?”
“No, I told you, she works in a diner.”
“Yeah, but she could do that too.”
“She plays a couple of gigs a month at Smokey’s.”
“Smokey’s,” he says the word like I’ve just taught him a curse word in French.
“Yeah, but she doesn’t really have the time to pursue it full-time.”
“Because of the diner?”
“Yeah, and because she had me.”
I feel his eyes on the side of my face and will myself not to blush. Too late.
“You really love her don’t you?”
“Who doesn’t love their own ma?”
His lips twitch and I wonder if he’s laughing at my accent again.
“I don’t know, Joan Crawford’s daughter?”
“Who?”
“Or that woman who wrote the book, I’m Glad My Mom Died .”
“Never heard of it.”
“So you’ve heard of Kafka, but not an author on the current best-seller’s list?”
I shrug. “I read school books and the occasional hockey biography, but that’s it. My ma’s really into reading. She likes Kafka and that Russian guy.”
“Tolstoy?”
“The other one, the guy with the long name.”
“Oh, Dostoyevsky.”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Your mom’s wasted working in a diner.”
Heat floods through me and I grit my teeth before replying. “I know.”
“Sorry, that was insensitive. Rich asshole here remember.”
“Forget it. You’re right. She is wasted there. But as soon as I make enough money, I’m gonna buy her a house and take care of her and she’ll never have to work again.”
“Except to sing.”
“Yeah, except that.”
His face is calm as he drives. The sleeves of his college sweater rolled up to his elbows, showing his pale forearms threaded with thick veins. He has the kind of hands that never got into a fight. Never scraped their knuckles climbing over a wall to escape a beat down from crazy Jimmy up the street. When I look at him, he’s watching me stare at his hands. I think about asking him what he did yesterday, but I realize he probably doesn’t want me to know.
“What do you wanna eat? Begels ?”
“Fuck you.”
“Not begels ?”