Break Away

by Van Barrett

River smiled. “Hey! I didn't think I'd be able to teach you anything. Nice. I feel smart.”

  “Oh, stop it.” I hid behind a shy and slightly buzzed grin. “So, uh, where are you going to sign, River?”

  “I'm sworn to secrecy.” He sealed his lips shut with a zipper.

  The Tank 7 had already gone to my head. My lips were loosening, and I worried I might let something embarrassing slip. One of those great things about alcohol, right?

  “C'mon! Tell me! It's not like I'll even know who you're talking about. Hell, you could make a team up and I wouldn't even know. But it would make me feel special that you told me.”

  “Oh yeah?” River wore a wily grin. His smile was so cute. It was hard not to stare at his perfect teeth. “Then I'll have you know, I'm totally gonna sign with the Stouffville Cat Stranglers.”

  My hand shot up to cover my mouth just in time – I almost spat my beer all over him! River might be cool about me drinking, but somehow I think that would've crossed the line.

  “Honestly though, Lane? I'm not even sure. I wanna go to a team where I'll fit in from the beginning. And that all comes down to a few important factors. I have to look at things like ice time, organizational depth charts, --”

  I cut him off. “Bo~oring.”

  River chuckled. “Yeah. I know. That's the reality, though. It is boring. Meanwhile, everyone thinks I'm totally coming to their team, and they know this for a fact, because their co-worker's daughter's ex-boyfriend who has connections to River himself totally said so … meanwhile? I don't know where I'm going yet. I don't even have a clue.” He paused, reflecting thoughtfully. “And I like that. I like having that freedom.”

  That quote felt important. I pushed my dinner plate over to make room for my notebook. But before I put pen to paper, I peeked up at River. “D'you mind?”

  He shook his head. “No, it's why we're here, right?”

  Why else would we be here? I ignored a small, but niggling disappointment in my gut.

  “Yeah, of course,” I muttered.

  I did my best to faithfully capture River's quotes, scribbling while we ate and drank. Or while I drank, anyway.

  “You know what sucks about having this freedom, though?” River asked me.

  “What's that?”

  “All those fans, they're all getting their hopes up. And the second I sign with a team, all the fans of the teams that didn't sign me? Now they're all gonna hate me too.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah. I could see that. The outspoken fans, anyway. But who needs them?”

  He frowned. “It kinda sucks.”

  “Yeah, but you know what, River? Haters are gonna hate! And they really hate it when you forge your own path instead of doing what they think you're 'supposed' to do.”

  “So true,” River agreed.

  “Anytime someone follows their dreams, it's like life straps this giant, flashing beacon to your back, so haters can find you and track you down and pull you off your path and into the mud. The same shitty ass mud where all those haters live out their nasty, hateful, cruel little lives.”

  River bobbed his head up and down, over and over. “Yup. Feels like it, sometimes.”

  Oh, Tank 7. I love you so much that I hate you. Because you are so delicious, yet so deceptively strong. And River, bless him, is so kind for telling me to go ahead and drink. And he didn't even stare at me with the cold, hard, judging eyes of other teetotalers I'd met.

  On the other hand, I almost wouldn't have minded it if he did give me a little bit of the stink eye. That way I might have moderated myself better.

  And maybe then I wouldn't have … you know … drank the entire pitcher myself. And then reach across the table and take the pint that he obviously wasn't going to drink.

  “So lemme shift gears a bit,” I said while I sipped that last beer. “I wanted to ask you about a prominent rumor I read.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “Legend has it that you're staying at UND because you're dating a cheerleader that you're madly in love with and planning to marry. Because she grew up in LA, --”

  River cut me off to repeat the rumor himself. “-- and she can't stomach the idea of us living in Carolina. She's poisoned my mind, vowing that she'll leave me if I ever even think about signing with those rednecks in Carolina. She wants me to stay in college, so I can make it to free agency, so I can then sign in LA, and we can live in California and be closer to her friends and family. Because she's such an evil, controlling wench, and has me by the balls.”

  I smiled. “I see you've heard this rumor before.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “So? Is it true?”

  “We broke up last year. Didn't stop the rumor, though. It's still going strong.”

  Broke up. For some reason, I really enjoyed hearing those two words paired together.

  “Okay,” I said, “well, was it true? Before you broke up?”

  “God, no.” River laughed. “Well, Cassandra is from LA, and she is a cheerleader, yes. But that's as far it goes. We never talked about the future like that. I have no idea how rumors like that get started, Lane, but it's not cool. She'd have random people add her on Facebook. And, not knowing any better, she accepted their friend request. And then she'd get sent these long, hate-filled messages about what a stuck-up c-word she was. Awful stuff, man.”

  I reared back. “Jesus!”

  “Yeah. Like you said about the haters. I don't know who they are or what their lives are like, but man. They're out there, Lane, and they're nasty. Anyway, her Facebook profile is private now. I'm sure they'd still bother her if they could.”

  “Okay, so I can officially say that rumor is bunk.” I worked my pen furiously over the words 'Cheerleader girlfriend rumor?' until all that remained was a splotch of black ink. “So, uh, are you seeing anyone now?”

  “Nope. Been single ever since me and Cass split.”

  I enjoyed writing that word – single – in my notebook.

  “… But maybe we don't have to talk about my love life in the article?” River remarked, sounding somewhat self-conscious.

  “Oh! Yeah, no, of course not.” I felt a spurt of liquid warmth rush into my cheeks. Like I'd been caught. “I'm just, uh, trying to get an idea of you. Find out who you are and stuff.”

  “Right on man.” River popped the last bite of burger into his mouth and went to work on the remaining fries.

  I looked at my list of questions to ask River. I'd been so sure of myself when I did my research. I really thought I'd compiled a list of questions that mattered, that I was gonna get to the root of this whole issue, but now? Looking at this list of questions between bites of food and gulps of beer, I could only shake my head with disappointment.

  When would he sign with his new team? What were his goals in the NHL? How did he get the name River? And so on.

  None of these questions mattered. They were all surface stuff and peripheral bullshit. The one underlying issue, the one question I really wanted to ask him, wasn't even on here.

  I shut my notebook a little impatiently.

  River gave me a sideways stare. “What's up?”

  “I still don't understand why you want me doing this piece, River.”

  He tilted his head with surprise – or maybe concern. “You still don't wanna do it?”

  “It's not that anymore. Actually, I do wanna do it. I just – I don't know.” I inhaled deeply.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Normally, when I've interviewed people in the past? It's like pulling teeth to get the most basic information. Forget asking about anything deeper – it's like no one knows why they do anything in life, no one has any self-awareness.” I shook my head. “But that's not the case with you.”

  River blinked at me.

  “What I'm saying is, River, you told me exactly what's going on, day one. You don't wanna sign with Carolina. You've earned the right to free agency, and you wanna see what else is out there, as is your right.”

  River sheepishly ate
a french fry. “… Yeah.”

  “So there it is. Your story, all neat and pre-packaged.” I raised my hands. “But that's too easy, isn't it? That's not the story. Anyone could've wrote that story. You didn't need me to write that. So I know there's something deeper going on here, but you're not telling me what it is.”

  River swallowed. He looked befuddled. Was he truly confused or was this all an act?

  “Well?”

  “Ha. Lane …” Lacking words, River could only shake his head with a huff.

  “I've been thinking about it, River. And the only way this is gonna work is if we have open and honest communication. It's gotta be a two-way street.” I showed him how a two-way street works with my hands. “Both ways. No secrets.”

  River swallowed again. “Oh, uh, yeah. So … what do you wanna know?”

  I slammed the rest of my pint. The beer was officially all gone. I'd drank an entire pitcher of Tank 7. And I felt like it, too.

  “Why do you care?” I blurted out.

  “About what?”

  “About what people think. About what I think. Hell, you changed the way you played today because of a comment I'd made!” I put my palms flat on the table. “I mean … River. You're so good. You've got a future. A bright future. Why do you even worry? Just follow your path. I think you already know what it is. So, just do it.”

  River looked bashful. He tried to laugh it off. He waved his hand at me – like, 'oh, you!' – and stared off to the side.

  And I kept drunkenly gushing. Because I wanted him to know I meant it.

  “No, I'm serious. You're fucking good, River. Yeah, sure, I don't know anything about hockey, but that's how good you are! Because even I know you're something special. And on top of that, you're also, um, you know, tall and good-looking and built. Point is, it's like you're meant for this, River. And you've got a good attitude, too. You're gonna make it. I know you are! You're gonna be a star, River. Fuck this stupid piece. You don't even need it. Just be yourself. Fuck everyone else.” I raised my pint again, desperately slurping up the last trickle of beer. “Including me.”

  “Lane.” River chuckled, hiding half of his face. “C'mon man.”

  “Shit. I'm drunk and I'm embarrassing myself, aren't I.”

  He smiled at me. “You might be a little tipsy.”

  “Oh, God.” I buried my face in my hands. “Sorry.”

  “Hey. It's all good.” River grinned. “Believe me, I've seen worse. You should see how drunk the boys get at the team parties. It's nuts, man. Maybe you'll get to come to one of the team parties someday? They're the best, I swear, because . . .”

  I quietly sighed as River started rattling off more tales about 'the boys' and how wild and hilarious they are.

  I'd just challenged him as directly as I could. I'd practically pleaded with him to tell me what this was actually about. And still, he gave me nothing.

  And maybe this was all my doing. Maybe I'd misjudged him. Because as soon as I started thinking River isn't like the others, that he might be this thoughtful, deep guy with more going on under the surface? He just stared at me. And I could swear that there's this look in his eyes – like he's scared of something, that he wants my help, somehow. Only he doesn't know how to ask and I don't know how to pull it out of him.

  But, again, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's just the look of someone who really is, deep down, a pretty simple guy. Maybe that's a look of nothingness. The look of a guy who lives, eats, and breathes hockey.

  Even if I want him to be something more, he can't be. He never will be. He'll always be River, the Hockey God. Which, hey, is pretty amazing all on its own. It's just not what I'd hoped.

  I laughed and nodded my head at all the right moments when River told me all the crazy pranks that the boys have pulled this year. But the truth was, I wasn't listening. I was wrestling with that all-too-familiar feeling of disappointment. Because I'd done it once again: I'd let myself get excited over the fantasy of someone rather than the reality.

  Everything River did and told me screamed, I'm just a dude-bro. Remember that dude-bro you met at the bar? The guy who was way more interested in the hockey game on TV than talking to you? That's me, and nothing more, so pull your head outta yer ass!

  And maybe that was the realization I needed. Because as soon as I realized that, I snapped right out of my pity party and I was able to tune back into River's anecdotes.

  “… So, Elliott had no idea, and he skates over to the bench to pick up his glove, right, and he goes to put it on and – splash! – all this water spills down the front of his jersey! Haha!”

  I forced a laugh and a smile. “Ha, ha!”

  River could tell that I'd missed the beginning of his story. “Because – because Jono filled his glove up with water when he wasn't looking.”

  “That's hilarious, River.” I smiled, trying my best to play along. “Hey, you want the other half of my sandwich? I think I'm full.”

  River's eyes lit up. “Do I? Hell yeah, man, I can always eat.”

  ***

  When the waiter brought us the check, River and I both reached for our wallets at the same time.

  River waved me off. “I got it.”

  “No, let me--”

  “I got it.”

  “At least let me pay for my dish and the beer.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. It's on me.”

  I could tell he wasn't gonna let me win this round.

  “Well, okay. Thank you, River.”

  “Yeah. Hey, thanks for coming out. I had a great time, Lane.”

  “You did?” I guess that was hard for me to believe, since I hardly felt the same way.

  “Yeah. I feel like you really get me.”

  Ugh. Stab me in the heart a little more, why don't you?

  “Oh,” I mumbled, hoping he didn't pick up on the fact that I could not disagree with that statement any more.

  River paid with cash. “You ready?”

  “Yep.” I slid out of the booth and stood. But the booze immediately went to my head and I staggered into the table. “Uh. Whoops.”

  River caught me by the arm. “You alright bud?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Embarrassed, I grumbled as we headed for the exit.

  Okay, now I got the cold, hard, and judging eyes as River asked me,

  “So … how are you getting home?”

  “Um.” I stalled for an excuse, but it didn't come. “Well, I uh, I drove here.”

  “Dude. You can't drive like this, Lane.”

  “You're right. I should call a cab.”

  “No need. I'll give you a ride back to your place.” But River checked his watch as he held the restaurant door open for me. “Or! If you don't have any plans, you can come over and hang at my place.”

  I laughed softly. No words came out. Was he serious?

  “The Habs are about to play the Bruins. Those two teams hate each other, so it's always good hockey when they meet up. I could get you up to speed with your hockey knowledge.”

  “Well.” I anxiously groomed my hair as I tried to gather my wits. “I uh, … I mean, why? You wanna teach me a little about hockey?”

  Don't go getting your hopes up again, Lane.

  “Yeah, man!” River popped my shoulder with his fist. “What do you say?”

  “… Sure!”

  “Awesome. C'mon.”

  River led me through the parking lot. I was kind of excited to see what kind of car River drove. Was he already caught up in his impending fame and fortune and driving a luxury sports car? Or was he a responsible citizen, trying to save the world with a battery powered economy car? Could he be a truck-driving, blue-collar, hard-working hero?

  We passed all those options by until it was clear where he was leading me.

  I gasped. “You ride a motorcycle?”

  “Yeah.” River stared at his sleek, black bike, as if it was a piece of art and he still couldn't believe it belonged to him. Even in the dark of night, the steel engine sparkl
ed and shined. “She's a beaut', eh?”

  My throat tightened. “Yeah …?”

  He turned to me. “You're not afraid, are you? 'Cause if you are, I could drive your car inste--”

  I shook my head. “No, no. To be honest I've never even thought about riding on a motorcycle. I guess I thought they were dangerous and dumb, but … now that I have the chance? I'm kinda excited to try it.”

  River liked hearing that. He smiled, his eyes crinkling up in the corners. “Good. Yeah, man. They're a blast.”

  “So, uh, what kind of bike is this?” I asked, sticking my thumbs in my pockets. Could I do it? Could I pull off the image that I knew anything at all about motorcycles?

  “Nineteen-seventy-eight Suzuki GS1000,” River said while he grappled with his helmet. “Four cylinder, four stroke, one-thousand CC engine.”

  “Nice,” I croaked. Those were some pretty impressive sounding hieroglyphics he'd just rapped at me.

  River passed me his helmet. He only had one.

  “Here you go bud.”

  I lifted the damned heavy thing and pulled it over my head. The chin straps dangled at my neck; I had no idea how to secure them. River leaned in and did it for me. And then he flipped up the visor so he could see my eyes.

  “What do you think?”

  “Feels pretty cool.”

  River smiled. “I mean the fit. Is the helmet secure?”

  “Oh! Yeah. It's good, I think.”

  “Kay.” River flipped my visor down.

  With the visor down, my warm breath quickly filled the helmet. It wasn't long before a comforting scent had me desperately panting and whiffing for more.

  It was River's. His salty, masculine smell. Before this moment, I couldn't have told you what he smelled like. But now I knew it exactly, and I'd never forget it. Salty and strong but sweet, and most of all, comforting. Damn that scent for being so profoundly attractive to me on a primal level. But how could it not be? A guy like that. A champion, strong and virile and successful. Of course I'd find his smell deeply arousing.

  River straddled his bike.

  “Hop on,” he said.

  Tentatively, I climbed on, careful not to press into River's back. My arms dangled at my side. Was I supposed to actually touch him? Or would that be 'gay'?