by Eden Finley
We fall silent again, and I look up at the smear of color brushing the sky. Today has been weird to say the least, yet all I can focus on is freezing water, and smiles, and the burning red sunset lighting up Foster’s cheeks.
He shifts beside me, moving closer, sending shivers over my skin. The hand he’s leaning on brushes me and then his fingertips slip between mine.
Which of course sends my heart up into my throat.
Foster doesn’t do anything else, and I’m not sure if it was an accident or intentional. Is it a friendly action? Has he even noticed?
How could he not when I feel like my hand is literally vibrating?
I hope he doesn’t expect me to know what’s going on because I’m completely lost.
“You know,” he says when it’s finally dark. “It’s a pity first kisses are more of a high school thing. That would have been a fun experience to have with you.”
Ah … my brain is stuck. First kisses? He’d actually kiss me? Does he want to?
God, what am I thinking? This is Foster. He’s probably only saying that as a hypothetical. Besides, the only thing more embarrassing than telling him I haven’t actually had that life experience yet, not properly anyway, would be having a bird drop excrement on my head.
And oh yes, I’ve already had that happen, so my virgin status—kisses and otherwise—will forever remain my secret.
He has two beers, but I’m good with just one. We sit there watching the sky and talking about everything and nothing. Even though I have no idea about hockey, I like the way Foster lights up when he mentions it. He speaks about his team with warmth and his future with hope.
I can’t help being disappointed when Foster says it’s time to go.
“You’ve yawned five times in the last ten minutes.” He holds out his hand and helps pull me to my feet. “We should get going.”
“But I don’t wanna …”
Foster squeezes me in a quick side hug that I lean into for as long as he lets me. It’s nowhere near long enough. “Other than you being dead on your feet, I have early practice, and Coach will kill me if I’m too tired to skate.”
“I’ll have you know, this is your fault.”
“Too much excitement for one day?” he asks as he packs up.
“Something like that.”
We drop everything off in his room before he insists on walking me back to my dorm, and I laugh silently as I remember his nonsense about the architecture.
“I want to make a bet with you,” Foster says when we arrive at Albany Hall.
“A bet …”
“I think I know how to get you to understand team dynamics in a practical setting with one word.”
I roll my eyes. “Back on that, are we? It’s not possible. I’ve been studying the course material, but there is no theory that cohesively demonstrates real-life situations where selfishness doesn’t outweigh teamwork. I need to understand it on a theoretical level to relate to it in person—”
“One word. And if I get it, you have to come to the CU versus UVM preseason game next weekend.”
“I don’t do hockey games.”
“You will. And you’ll also be wearing my jersey.”
My head falls back as I laugh. This may be the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said. “I know you hockey players have a bit of an ego, so I’ll try to be gentle when I say, I don’t own a jersey with your number on it.”
Foster’s not deterred. “Seth does. You can borrow his.”
“There’s no way you could—”
“Then you should have no trouble saying yes to the bet.” The challenging look in his eyes gives me pause.
“You’ve got one word.”
Foster smiles. “Symbiosis.”
Symbi … oh no.
“I’ll wait …” Foster folds his arms, looking entirely too smug.
“Two different organisms with a mutually beneficial relationship.”
“They complement each other. So, even though they’re different, and might have different ways of achieving a goal, they work together to make each other better. That’s the team.”
I hang my head. “Shit. It’s so simple.”
Foster starts to back up. “I can’t wait to see what you look like in my jersey.”
Then he turns and leaves before I can protest.
11
Foster
Coach Hogan’s whistle blows so fucking loud it echoes around the rink, but that’s nowhere near as loud as his yelling.
The whole team has been out of sync this practice. I know a few guys went to McIntyre’s last night while I was with Zach, but they know better than to get shitfaced the night before practice.
It’s not that we’re playing badly, but we’re not gelling. Even Jacobs and I, the highest scorers on the ice, aren’t connecting today like we usually do.
We’re all sweaty, tired, and just plain defeated.
This happens sometimes, and it’s better to happen during a practice than a real game.
Especially a game as important as the one coming up.
No, it doesn’t stand for rank, and it’s supposed to just be a friendly competition between rival schools, but it’s so much more than that.
“Run it again,” Coach yells. “And this time, don’t fuck it up!”
Jacobs nudges me. “Ever think he sounds a hell of a lot like RuPaul when he says that?”
I cock an eyebrow at my teammate. “And you know RuPaul because …”
“Hey, a straight guy can appreciate Drag Race. It’s funny.”
I’m not touching that one. “Can we please just get this thing done so we can go home?”
Jacobs looks confused. “Why do you want to run out of here? Hot date with the nerdy TA?”
“Nope. Again, not dating, asshole. I’m just sick of us sucking on the ice.”
“Wait, are you mad at me?”
“Jacobs and Grant! Get moving.”
We both flinch at Coach’s voice.
The practice doesn’t get any better, and I don’t know where we’re going wrong.
It’s frustrating.
If we don’t start working together soon, we won’t win any games. If we don’t win any games, no scouts or agents will be interested in any of us. It’s not just me who has big NHL dreams.
Coach blows his whistle again, but instead of yelling, he lets out a defeated, “Hit the showers.”
We all hang our heads as we walk down the chute toward the locker rooms.
I run my hands through my sweaty hair as I take a seat on the bench in front of my cubby.
Our defensive coach takes over the yelling while Coach Hogan sulks in the corner with his arms folded and a harsh scowl on his face.
We start the slog of taking off our gear while he continues to yell at us.
“The University of Vermont is gonna wipe the floor with you. All of you.” Coach Stevens rivals Coach Hogan in the motivational department.
I take my practice jersey off and throw it in the nearest laundry bin.
“You have to start working as a team out there or you’re all gonna have to swallow your pride when UVM kicks your asses next week.”
The thought of the University of Vermont winning this game gets me fired up to win.
They have the prestige. The history.
They’re pretentious, and someone needs to take them down a peg or two … or five.
They haven’t made it to a Frozen Four in the past decade. We’ve made it to three, even if we came away empty handed.
We’re supposed to be the better team, and yet, we’re cursed when it comes to them.
We’ve lost seven of the last ten pre-preseason games against them.
Those three years we beat them? Those are the years we made it to the Frozen Four.
Coincidence, superstition, whatever it is, all I know is if we fuck up this game, we may as well kiss our whole season goodbye.
It’s the curse of Colchester U, and it’s thrown in our faces every year.
There’s a lot riding on this game, but all I can think about is Zach sitting in the stands wearing my number.
And shit, maybe Jacobs is right about him being a distraction.
“Grant!” Coach Hogan yells, and my head snaps up.
“What?”
“Everyone will be looking to you for leadership. It’s your responsibility to make sure everyone’s in the right headspace. We don’t want any screwups on the ice.” He glances around the room, and I feel Jacobs’s eyes burning into me. “I know it’ll be tempting for fights to break out, and at this point, it’s probably inevitable. No matter how many times we yell at you to stick to the game, you all think you know better.”
In our defense, the UVM hockey team is full of assholes, and any fights that break out on the ice are always instigated by them in some way.
I wonder if they take lessons on getting in our heads because they’re damn experts at it.
“No sloppy penalties! No fighting!”
“Yes, Coach,” we say in unison.
He storms out of the locker room, and the door closes with the resounding sound of finality.
We all stay seated in various states of undress.
There’s a defeated aura surrounding us, hanging low and heavy like a storm cloud.
It’s my job to rally these guys, but I don’t know if I have it in me today.
“That practice sucked,” I say bluntly.
It earns a few snickers.
“Pep talk of the year award goes to Grant,” Beck says.
More laughs.
The atmosphere relaxes a little, and maybe what the guys need right now isn’t threats about this one game screwing with our whole season. They don’t need to be yelled at.
“For real though, you all have to remember that tomorrow is only a game. It doesn’t stand for rank. It doesn’t count toward the season. Forget the CU curse, and go out there and have fun.”
“And if we lose?” Simms, the rookie I gave a hard time that first day, asks.
We put that first day behind us, and the kid has talent, but he’s still green.
“If we lose? It’s really simple. We become the first team in the history of our school to beat the CU curse. It’s the Frozen Four or die this year, boys.”
Cheers and hollers erupt around the room as the guys finish stripping down and make their way to the showers.
Jacobs sidles up to me. “It’s a tall order, Captain.”
I smile. “Maybe to be safe, we’d better make sure we win tomorrow night.”
“Damn straight.” Jacobs opens his mouth but closes it again fast.
“We cool?” I ask.
He lets out a relieved breath. “I was going to ask you that.”
“Drop the Zach shit and we’re cool.”
He throws up his hands. “Consider it dropped.”
“Then consider us cool.”
He slaps my back as he walks away.
After I shower and get dressed in sweats and a tank top, I check my phone to find a message from my brother.
SETH: Are you kidding me? You’re making Zach go to your stupid game wearing your number?
FOSTER: He lost a bet.
My phone starts ringing.
Grabbing my gear bag, I make my way outside to answer it.
“What?” I love my brother. Really, I do.
“What? What? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“I … made a bet with a friend, and he lost?”
“I tell you to look out for him, and you’re making him go to a hockey game. Hockey.”
“What’s wrong with hockey?”
“Nothing. Unless you’re Zach Sawyer.”
I huff. “What aren’t you two telling me? Does this have something to do with the reason you asked me to keep an eye on him to begin with?”
“You know Morris on the UVM team?”
“Asshole McDickface as we like to call him? Yes.”
Seth sighs long and hard. “For some reason, Zach was on his radar last year. It’s like he took pleasure in humiliating him in front of a bunch of people. Mostly juvenile things like tripping him or shoving him. Calling him derogatory stuff.”
“What the fuck?”
“I don’t even know why or how Zach became his target, just that he made Zach’s life a living hell for a while. He even changed dining halls and stayed away from anywhere Morris could be.”
My chest burns, and my anger spikes. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Whatever, macho man. The only way you can take care of this is by not making Zach go tomorrow night.”
“Did he say he doesn’t want to go, or are you saying it?”
“What?”
“How did you know he was planning to come?”
“He asked for my jersey.”
“Doesn’t that tell you he wants to be there?”
“Noooo.” He grunts, and I feel his frustration through the phone. “It tells me he’s doing it to prove some sort of point. Like he can handle it on his own or some shit.”
“Seth … you do know Zach isn’t a child, right? He can look after himself.”
“I don’t want to see him hurt.”
“That’s admirable, but I get the sense he hates how overprotective you are of him. And trust me, he’ll want to be there tomorrow night.”
“Why?”
“To see how awesome I am. Duh.”
And to see Morris get a little payback.
I send a silent apology to Coach for planning to break the promise I made him, but the thought of anyone going after Zach in any way has my protective instincts coming out. I guess my brother and I have that in common.
We both want to protect him.
12
Zach
I very nearly lose my nerve. A hockey game? What on earth has possessed me?
I’m almost shaking as I get dressed and try to fix my hair, but for once, this isn’t anxiety. I’m actually … looking forward to this. Maybe. Possibly. I huff out a breath as I turn from my reflection and gather my things.
In the week since our rooftop picnic, Foster’s schedule has been overrun with hockey, but he’s still made time to meet me for breakfast or to text me at night. I’m finding it hard to convince myself that he’s doing this for Seth whenever I hear his warm laugh or when he gives me a look that sets butterflies loose in my stomach.
He never asks if I’m okay or if I need anything. He’s just … there. Which is possibly the best thing he could do.
The game is being held at UVM. It will be the first time I’ve been back there since I graduated, so before I have second thoughts about my uncharacteristic excitement, I leave.
I’m meeting Seth at our usual coffeehouse before the game, and I convince myself that’s where the anticipation is coming from. After seeing Seth nearly every day for the past three years, to go weeks without him has been hard. I can acknowledge that I needed the independence, but he’s been my safe space for so long.
I remind myself sticking to what’s safe won’t help me in the long run, no matter how tempting it might be.
There are more people around campus than I’m used to, though that’s probably because I hid away in the library whenever there were largely anticipated sporting events going on. The games seem to be a confidence injector in athletes, and I’m a firm believer that men with muscles who believe they can do no wrong should be avoided at all costs.
And yet, here I am walking into the thick of it.
For Foster.
Well, Foster’s stupid bet.
By some magic, Seth has managed to score our usual table by the window, and given how busy it is in here, I grab our drinks to prevent losing our spot. Once our order is up, I head over and my attention snags on the navy and silver material sitting folded on the seat next to him. Sweet Jesus, not only am I going to be wearing that, I’m going to be wearing it surrounded by a sea of white, green, and gold.
“Apparently, a few people are going to this game
,” I say to Seth as I approach. My voice is almost lost in the conversation around us.
He laughs and jumps up to put the drinks on the table and then pulls me into a hug. And, okay, yes, I did need space, but I also needed this. The nervous energy I’ve been holding on to releases on a breath.
“A few people? It’s going to be packed, Zach.” Seth drops back into the corner booth, and I hurry to slide into the other side. “This game is almost as big as the Frozen Four. It’s not even an official preseason game, but it’s a standing tradition between the schools, so it’s a big deal.”
“What’s the Frozen Four?”
“Hockey championships.” He picks up his drink and watches me as he takes a long sip. “Considering how close you’re getting with Foster, I’m surprised you don’t know that already.”
I curse the way my cheeks start to heat at hearing his name. “We’re certainly not close.”
Seth grabs the jersey and places it on the table. “You sure about that?”
“Yes.” I scowl as I pick it up. “I lost a ridiculous bet.”
“If it was ridiculous, why are you following through?”
“Because it’s the ethical thing to do.”
“Mmhmm.”
The noise doesn’t fill me with confidence, but what is it Seth wants me to say? That I’ve developed a tiny, little, adolescent crush on his twin brother? I’m not sharing that out loud.
“You’re trying to embarrass me,” I deflect.
“You’re too easy to rile up.” He nudges me. “So how is it being the smartest person at Colchester?”
He means my classes, but I immediately think of Foster and the simple way he explained the whole team dynamics concept to me. “I’ve actually been feeling rather humbled lately.”
“Humbled. You?”
“Yes.” I smile. “It’s been nice.”
“Okay, you’ve got to fill me in.”
“Actually, I think I’ll keep this one to myself.” I unfold the jersey, remove my glasses, and pull the sweater over my head. “Let’s just say it ended on a lost bet.”
Seth’s looking at the jersey like it knocked over his coffee. “Ended? So no more bets?”
I know what he wants me to say, but as I smooth my hands over the navy material, I wonder if that’s the case. It’s difficult to see what comes after today, if Foster and I will stay … friends or whatever this is, but it doesn’t feel like an ending. And if my excitement over wearing his jersey is anything to go by, it’s clear I don’t want our friendship to end. “I’m not sure.”