Break Away

by Van Barrett

  She blurted out a surprised laugh. “Damn, it is serious!”

  “Was, maybe,” I corrected her.

  And so I told her everything else. I told her how, day to day, I was never sure what to expect from him or us – that was the push and pull of our so-called 'relationship,' whatever it was. How he demanded this level of secrecy from me that, realistically, I had no hope of maintaining. With my background, I was a security risk from day one.

  I told her too, how he'd showed up at my apartment after the news about me broke. How we all but broke it off with each other. And then how we cried on the hardwood floor, and one thing led to another, and we made L-word for the first and last time. Yes, that's right, we meant to have break-up sex, but instead we fucked like people who were in L-word with each other.

  “Stop saying that,” Devon laughed.

  “What?”

  “L-word. That's so obnoxious. You're not afraid to tell me you sucked his dick and swallowed his cum, but that's off limits? Are you really that afraid to say it, Lane? Love? C'mon, say it with me, lllll--”

  “No!” I hissed like a demon. “Don't say that word in my presence!”

  She threw her head back and giggled. “Oh my God, you are afraid!”

  “Can you blame me?! With my history? With the way this is going down? What's the point in letting myself get cursed by that awful, terrible word?!”

  She shrugged. “Maybe the point is being honest with yourself? And knowing, deep down, just how far you'd go to save your lov--”

  “Hsssshhh!” I hissed again, and we shared in a laugh. After we calmed down, I became more serious. “But really, the point is, it's not up to me anymore. It's up to River. He wants this kept in the dark, Dev. I can't live like that.”

  “Well why not?” She shrugged. “I mean, really. What's so bad about seeing each other in secret?”

  “Um, for starters, everything that's currently happening now? Hello? The truth wants to be free, Dev. Try to keep something a secret and it'll eat you from the inside.”

  “Yeah … true …”

  “And besides that, it creates this weird pseudo-relationship. Where you're falling for each other but you're still hesitant because it doesn't feel real. Because you're not allowed to tell people. It just feels so fake and transient. You never know when the house of cards is going to fall. Alas, the cards have already fallen. We're done and over, Dev. There's really no point in speculating about anything else.”

  “Hmmf.” She let herself sink into the couch. “Yeah. That's tough. But it just doesn't feel like you guys are really, truly, over yet.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe not. But when River signs his contract, and I stay here in Grand Forks, trust me. That will be the end of it. No doubt about it.”

  Devon finished her beer and stood up with a stagger. “Whew.”

  “Tipsy?”

  “Yeah. Been awhile since I've gotten drunk this early in the afternoon.”

  “Pretty depraved, isn't it?”

  “Sure is. So what's our plan for the day?”

  “Well. This.” I knocked back the rest of my beer, too. And then I patted my laptop. “And this. I was hoping you might help me draft this River story? I want it to be done at this point. Just get this story, and him, out of my life. I don't even care what my grade is at this point.”

  She shrugged. “Sure thing, Lane-o. If that's really what you want.”

  “It is. Oh, it is.”

  41

  Round 3

  – River –

  We had our morning skate at 10 AM. I was not in the best of spirits, for I knew what was coming. Lettuce, bless his heart, gave 110% on every drill. He still had no idea he was going to be inserted into the lineup tonight. He just always gave that much of an effort. And it had this ripple effect that made everyone else on the team work so much harder. Because, yes, it's inspiring … but also because nobody wanted to be shown up by a freshman depth forward.

  Jono, on the other hand, skated around as he had been for weeks. Without interest, without hustle, without purpose. The only time I saw anything in his eyes was when he managed to catch mine from across the ice and he'd give me a knowing smirk.

  At one point, we ended up alone in the corner of the rink. Just the two of us.

  “I hope you don't do anything stupid, Jono, if Coach decides not to play you.”

  Jono's eyes narrowed. “… I hope you're not trying to tell me that you did something stupid. Something you're gonna regret.”

  “Jono. You know how the vote works. I've only got one vote.”

  He smirked. “So the others voted against me?”

  “I'm not saying anything definitively.” I gulped. “I'm just …”

  “You mean, you're just trying to throw Ocho and Ells under the bus on the sly? And I'm supposed to take pity on you, 'cause you couldn't convince Ocho and Ells that I should play tonight?” He laughed, high-pitched, almost a cackle. “After all we've been through. Wow, River. You really – wow. All that talk about wanting to win together, hm? 'Senior year, Jono.' What a load of shit. You're so full of it, River. Fuck you, man. You're a real fuckin' piece of work.”

  He started to skate off. I grabbed the name-plate of his jersey and pulled him right back.

  “Jono. C'mon, Jono. Please. Just listen to me.”

  “You're so fucked – you know that, right?”

  “I – I don't know what you think you know, Jono, but you're wrong.”

  “No. You don't know what I know. And that's what's got you scared you shitless.” He grinned. “Right?”

  I didn't say anything.

  “Last chance. Get the others to change their votes.”

  “I can't do that, Jono.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Jono skated off. I gritted my teeth. There was a last option for me: I could tell Ocho and Ells about why I needed Jono to play tonight. Maybe they'd understand – and agree to keep my secret?

  While I thought it over, I watched Lettuce at one end of the ice, weaving in and out of cones while he stick-handled with the puck. He always moved his feet like his life depended on it. He always pushed himself to the limit – always battling and pushing himself to get better.

  Then I watched as Jono waltzed up and down the other end of the ice, blasting wild slap-shots at anyone who happened to skate through his line of fire. The boys noticed and started yelling at him.

  “Careful!” “Hey! Take that shit somewhere else!” “The hell are you trying to do to out here, Jono!”

  He was an absolute loose cannon. And this was the guy I was trying to get into the lineup? Even when Lettuce was clearly the better option?

  Jono was right. I was a fuckin' piece of work. And I hated myself for it. So I decided no, I couldn't do it. I couldn't get Jono in, even if it meant the worst for me.

  Before long, Coach blew the whistle. Our morning skate had ended. Coach J pulled Jono aside while the rest of us left the ice and headed for the dressing room. I didn't have to guess what the talk was about.

  Welp. Here we go.

  ***

  The rest of us boys were still stripping off our equipment when Jono came storming into the dressing room. His mood was like a dark, angry cloud that descended over everybody in an instant. He tore his helmet off and threw it against the cinder block wall. It fell to the floor, busted. He wasn't any easier on the rest of his gear.

  Jono angrily pulled his jersey off and pitched it to his side. It hit our goalie in the face. “Fuck you, man, the hell?” the goalie mumbled and everyone chuckled uncomfortably.

  The boys looked at me to say something. I was the captain. It was my role to make sure shit like this didn't fly. But with what Jono had on me, I couldn't. Like a deer in the headlights, I watched as Jono threw all his equipment off, flinging it all around the room, and then, naked at last, stormed into the shower.

  Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief that Jono was over there, and not here. Everyone but me.

  God damn.
I'm helpless.

  We heard the sound of creaky shower valves turning, followed by the hiss of streaming water. It was finally safe to talk.

  “The fuck crawled up his ass and died?” JT Cooper grunted.

  Then Coach came in. He tapped Lettuce on the shoulder and pulled him outside for a brief chat. The boys knew right then, without hearing a word, what had happened. And when Lettuce came back, with an ear-to-ear grin on his face, it was all but confirmed.

  “You in tonight, Lettuce?” Cooke asked.

  He nodded. Out of respect to Jono, everyone quietly congratulated Lettuce with words of encouragement and pats on the butt.

  “You deserve it,” I said to him. And I meant it. “So proud of you, bud.”

  We waited until Jono was done with his shower before we joined him. With the vibe he was giving off, no one wanted to be near him. And when we all came back from the showers, Jono was already gone, and he'd taken his stuff with him. We thought he might be there waiting for us on the bus. But when we boarded the bus, he wasn't there either.

  “Where the hell is he?” Coach J asked, checking his watch. The bus was idling and we were behind schedule, supposed to be back at the hotel by now.

  No one knew, and Jono wasn't answering his phone.

  Coach waited around a few more minutes, until he got pissed off. He huffed and gave the bus driver the word. “Alright. Fuck it. Let's go.”

  Back at the hotel, I went to Jono's room and knocked. He wasn't there, either.

  “Fuck,” I mumbled to myself.

  I made a few more trips during the course of the day to Jono's room. It wasn't any use. He wasn't in there. His roommate hadn't seen him. No one knew where he was and he wasn't answering anyone's phone calls or texts.

  I went back to my room and tried to relax. Tried to focus on the game ahead. Tried to remind myself that I was two games away from winning the national championship. Tried to remind myself that I play better when my mind is clear and happy.

  But I couldn't shake that ominous feeling that something bad was about to go down.

  ***

  Jono never came back to the hotel. When the bus ferried us back to the arena for our evening game, he wasn't waiting for us in the dressing room, either. I kept my eyes on that DeadSpin website – which was nerve-wracking every time I loaded up the page. But thankfully, there weren't any new stories about me. Wherever Jono was, and whatever he was doing, he hadn't blabbed anything else about me.

  Maybe Lane's right? I desperately hoped. Maybe all Jono had was that bit of info. That Lane was a gay sex columnist. If that's it, that ain't so bad.

  And if that was true, that meant that Carolina didn't have anything on me, either. And that meant I could very well be a free man after all, in fate of my own destiny.

  That thought alone might have saved my game from being a complete and total disaster tonight. And that's not to say I played anywhere near good. Because when we took the ice, I sensed the tangled knot of anxieties and worries and fears swirling around in my gut. There was still so much that could go wrong, after all. So many unknowns.

  Like where Jono was. Why he'd gone missing. What he was planning next.

  That's what I thought about while I should've been focused on the opening faceoff. The Pioneers won the faceoff, carried the puck down my side of the ice and set up the attack. We got hemmed in our zone for a solid minute. Denver, after peppering our goalie with a flurry of shots, tucked home a rebound for an early 1-0 lead.

  I dropped my head back and glared at the bright overhead lights. Fuck.

  Coach screamed at us as we skated back to the bench. “The fuck are you guys doing? Wake up! The game started two fuckin' minutes ago boys!”

  And for the first time all year, I struggled. Lettuce was playing great on the third line – bumped up to the second line – and then promoted to the first line. To play with me. To get me going.

  But Lettuce was fast. His feet constantly moving, his head on a swivel, always looking for options and plays. And me? I skated in molasses.

  For the first time all year, I wasn't feeling it. It was up to Lettuce to carry our line.

  And carry it, he did; he'd scored our only goal. Still, when the second period ended, we were losing 2-1.

  Our season was down to one period.

  42

  Bombshell

  – Lane –

  Without River around to direct our attention to the hockey game, we didn't pay too much attention to the action.

  Plus, by the time 7 PM rolled around, let's face it – me and Dev were tanked. A mess of empty booze bottles and fast food wrappers littered the coffee table and floor. Deke, having eaten his fill of our unwanted pizza crusts, was passed out in an empty, crumb-filled pizza box.

  And me and Dev, sitting on the floor with our backs up against the couch, stared into my laptop for the gazillionth hour.

  “I like it.” Devon said, sounding tired after doing her eleventh read-through of the, oh, fortieth draft. “I really think it's good Lane.”

  “You just wanna be done.”

  “Yes! I do!” she laughed. “Is that so wrong? We've been drinking, eating garbage, and working on this paper for hours. I want to be done. And narrow my focus. To just, drinking. So I can watch this damned game and pass out.”

  She picked up her tequila sunrise with a heavy hand and sipped it. The tequila, I knew, had nails as it fought its way down her throat. “Ooh, yah,” she growled, satisfied.

  I gazed into the harsh glow of my computer screen. The white was too much, too blinding, the black words jumping around the page. Dev was right. We were done. This had gone on for too long, and my paper wasn't getting any better. I saved it and printed off a copy on River's printer.

  “Yes. Thank you. Finally.” Devon crawled up onto the couch and collapsed on her belly.

  I stayed on the floor and watched the hockey game. I could barely track the action. All the players darted back and forth, moving up and down, just like the words on my monitor. But I could at least listen to the commentators. And the bits and pieces I managed to hear didn't sound good:

  “And the Fighting Hawks find themselves down a quick goal, 1-0.”

  “Denver scores again, and it's 2-0.”

  “For River Brame, the struggle continues. He's not looking like himself tonight. The Fighting Hawks need him to find his form if they want any chance of pulling through tonight.”

  “Brame and Jono Clark have been close friends since they went to Shattuck-Saint Mary's prep school. You have to wonder if his play tonight has something to do with Clark's benching.”

  “Chris Cale, or 'Lettuce' as the team calls him, is really the only bright spot on this team tonight.”

  “Cale looks fantastic, no doubt about it. I've been told he's worked hard all year with River Brame while he patiently waited for his chance. He's running on pure adrenaline out there tonight, folks.”

  “You think he's playing above his pay grade?”

  “Oh, absolutely. He's still very, very raw.”

  “Cale with a goal! He snuck into the slot and Brame fed him the puck, and the Fighting Hawks cut the deficit to 2-1!”

  I perked up when UND scored at last. “Lettuce scored!”

  Devon giggled drunkenly from the couch. “Lettuce.”

  “I know, right? They have the worst nicknames for each other …”

  The bad news was, the second period ended with the good guys down by one. And their season would only last twenty more minutes if they couldn't at least tie the game.

  The good news was, once Lettuce scored, they looked a lot better. The commentators even talked about how River was looking more focused and confident after he set that goal up. So that was good.

  During the intermission, Devon's phone buzzed on the coffee table again and again. She stuck her arm out, her fingers coming just shy of it. “Ooooah.”

  “Lemme help ya there.” I pushed the phone an inch closer to her hand and she grabbed it.

&nb
sp; “Thank you, kind sir.” Devon looked at her phone. And I watched as her dopey, drunken expression faded into something else. Something a lot more sober and not good.

  “Shit,” she muttered, scrambling to sit up in a hurry.

  “What? What is it?”

  “It's Jono. I think he's up to something again.”

  “What?! What'd he say?”

  She read aloud. “'Devon. Guess once you see the news, you'll think you were right about me after all? Oh well. If you're with River's lover-boy right now, do me a favor and tell him I hope he's ready for an avalanche of shit. P.S. You should really use different passwords for different accounts.'”

  “The fuck!” I shot up and paced around the room. “What does he know!? What is he saying?”

  “I don't know, but it doesn't sound good.”

  I turned my laptop on again. “Please, oh please, oh please …”

  I loaded up DeadSpin with Devon peering right over my shoulder. We watched as the page loaded and saw the top headline.

  “NSFW: More Sexy Details About River Brame and Lane Matthews' Mysterious Partnership!”

  “Not safe for work,” I repeated lowly as I clicked the link. This did not sound good. “Oh God. What could this be.”

  Devon chewed her lips nervously as we waited for the article to load.

  And then it did. Right there, front and center, was the picture of River's dildo. It was the picture I'd taken and e-mailed to Devon (and Devon only!), with my arm next to it for size comparison. They'd even edited in a little graphic call-out to the infinity symbol tattooed on my wrist – and showed a picture from my Facebook profile that clearly showed that I shared the same tattoo. It was undeniably me, posing with River's likeness.

  “Fuck.” I didn't even read the article. I didn't have to. Why bother? I just fell back, stunned, ruined, and my body crumpled onto the floor. I covered my face with my hands and screamed into it. “WHY?”

  Devon laid next to me and put her arm around me. “Shh. It's gonna be okay Lane. This will all blow over, uh, s-some day. Just … try to stay calm?”