Linemates (First Time Gay Hockey Romance)

by Van Barrett

  My dick pounds in my pants, aching to be touched. But there's no point in getting excited, because it's all downhill from here. All these questions I wanna ask Vance? ... they're all off limits. They have to be bottled up and buried deep down, like the rest of me. 'Cause they're too awful to see the light of day.

  I let out a forlorn sigh and stare out at the city skyline. “Well, thanks for telling me. I know that couldn't have been easy. And thanks again for making sure I got my shirt back.”

  “Sure, man. I hope you're not mad.”

  “Nah. I'm not.”

  “Good.” He pauses. “At least now I know why you take such long showers ... believe me, I'll stay outta there in the future!”

  Cue the laugh track. Har har har! We both slap each other's backs. It's a good, hearty laugh for both of us.

  Except ... for me, it's not so funny. Actually, it hurts. Because it's a rejection on some level. I know he didn't mean it like that. But that's exactly what it is.

  26.

  Deal's a Deal

  Tyler

  Whew. The hard part for me is over.

  Me and Callan look out over Chicago for a while, not speaking. I guess he's probably processing his feelings after I just dropped that bomb on his head.

  Telling Callan all that might have been the hardest thing I've had to say to anyone in my whole life. I mean ... it'd be bad enough if all I had to tell him was that I caught a glimpse of him jerking it.

  But I didn't just 'catch a glimpse.' I stayed. I stayed long enough to see him blow his wad! I mean ... dude. That's pretty embarrassing.

  Embarrassing for me, that is. Callan doesn't even have a reason to be embarrassed, if you ask me. He didn't do anything wrong. It's not like he knew I was gonna sneak in there. He thought he was all alone ... and he did what guys sometimes do when they think they're alone!

  What could he even be embarrassed about?

  The fact that he jerks it in the first place? Nope – most guys do, I think. It's totally natural. I jerk it. I'm sure if you asked the other guys on the team, 90% of them would admit they do it, too. (And the other 10% are liars!)

  Could he be embarrassed about having a small dick? Nope – because he doesn't.

  Haha. That was random.

  But seriously. If anything, he could be bragging to me about how big he is. Now that I've seen it, I couldn't call him a liar or accuse him of exaggerating.

  The crazy part was the wave of relief I felt once I told him – like a ray of light rushing through my core, my essence. What I'd seen, what I'd done, was driving me almost mad. But coming clean about it was a total relief for me. A thousand pound burden finally lifted from my shoulders.

  Which reminds me ... I didn't just tell him all that for nothing.

  I clear my throat and peek over at Callan. He's wistfully staring over the city. He looks like he's still worlds away.

  “Hey.” I budge my shoulder into his. “Remember your end of the bargain?”

  He's slow to come back to reality. “Huh?” he says at last, looking sleepy, almost like he just woke from of a dream.

  “I told you all that 'cause now I need you to tell me something.”

  “Oh. Right. Yeah, go ahead.”

  I take a brief pause before I manage to get the words out.

  “... The trade.”

  Those two words are all I have to say, and the life drains right out from his face. His eyes grow threatened and scared, like a wild animal's eyes the second before it bolts.

  “Dude, no,” he chuckles. He shakes his head at his feet and mutters angrily, almost talking to himself. “Fuck, I walked into that one, didn't I? I guess I should've seen it coming. What else would you have wanted to know about me? Ha. God. Fuck no, Vance. I'm sorry but no.”

  Some part of me feels bad for him. His fear is palpable, after all. But a deal's a deal.

  “Hey, Cal, I didn't just tell you all that shit for the fun of it either, alright? You think that was easy?”

  “No – but – but this is different, Ty. You don't understand. It changes things.”

  “How?” I laugh. “How could it change things that bad?”

  “See, you don't understand. You just don't.”

  I lean in and hush my voice. “Did you ... murder someone?”

  He looks shocked. “Murder! Dude, no. Nothing like that.”

  “Well, that's about the only horrible, unforgivable thing I can think of ...”

  He rears back, scowling at me. “Why do you even need to know? Why does everyone need to know? Why can't people just accept that it's none of their business, and—”

  “You know I haven't asked you once about it until now. The only reason I'm asking now is because it's not going away. I thought it would, Cal, but the reporters won't let it go. Your old teammates won't let it go. And we know nothing about it, only that it freaks you out and makes you play like shit. You think you can hide this and it'll go away? It's not going away, Cal, whatever it is, it wants to come out.”

  He chuffs. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

  “So what the hell? Why not just clear the air already? Admit it, own it, and it'll go away.”

  “No – it won't. I can promise you that. It's not going anywhere once it comes out.”

  “How bad is it, Cal? Is it bad enough that the league would ban you? Bad enough you'd do jail time?”

  He scoffs. “No. Definitely not, but ...”

  “I don't understand what you could've done that's so awful and horrible that you'd be this black sheep around the league that nobody wants anymore. Considering how good you are at hockey, I just can't imagine what it'd be.”

  Callan looks upset. His brows arch and I almost wanna hug the guy.

  “I'm just curious about you, Cal. Because as far as I can tell, you're a great guy and a great hockey player.” I take a deep breath and wonder if it really matters. I let out a sigh. “I guess, you don't have to tell me if you really don't want to. ... But I'll bust your nuts and call you a deal-breaker until the day you do!”

  Laughing, I slap my hand on his back, between his big shoulder blades. But he doesn't seem too amused.

  Callan squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “Alright, okay, fine, I'll tell you. Wow, I can't believe I'm gonna do this.”

  I wait while he wrestles with the words.

  “I'm uh ... well, see, the Jets found out – that ... argh! I'm into guys. I'm gay, Ty.”

  I blink, staring at him, waiting for that shit-eating grin of his that follows all his dumb pranks. “Haha. Shutup, Cal.”

  “Seriously.”

  “Haha.” I shake my head at him. I'm still waiting. Fuck, he's a good liar.

  But ... his grin doesn't appear.

  “Wait. What?”

  He raises his eyebrows and nods. “Yeah.”

  “No,” I stammer. He's lying. I know he is.

  He looks skyward and laughs, but it's not a funny ha-ha laugh, it's a frustrated one.

  “But that's impossible,” I say.

  “Based on what.” His voice is flat, emotionless.

  “Based on ... uhhh ... well, the times we've been to the club together, and ...” I trail off.

  I feel like I've seen him with a woman before, but now that I'm put in the position to try to specifically remember it happening? I'm totally blanking.

  “Yeah. Had you tricked good, I guess.”

  I blink at him some more. I was sure he was joking or lying before – but now the possibility that he might not be pulling my chain is slowly starting to sink and soak into my brain.

  “Wait ... for real?”

  He groans. “Yes!”

  “Have you ever, uh – y'know – with a guy?”

  “Yes!” He grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me. “Yes! I have sex with guys! Okay?”

  “Holy shit.” My hand covers my mouth. “That's really outta left field.”

  “Jesus,” Callan hisses. He turns back to the skylin
e, shaking his head angrily.

  “Sorry, I'm just – I uh.”

  “It's okay.” But he doesn't sound like it's okay. He sounds pissed off. Pissed at me for demanding to know. And pissed at himself for actually telling me.

  I stammer. My mind is going a million miles a minute, and I'm not sure what to say to him yet.

  “I uh, I have to think about this from so many different angles, is all.”

  Like ... maybe he's right. Maybe this information really would be the end of his career. Definitely not because the league would ban him – I can only imagine the discrimination lawsuit and all the bad press that would follow that! – but because the other players might be freaked out by it. They might not want 'a gay guy' in the dressing room. Or in the showers next to them.

  What GM would give Cal a contract, knowing that they might be introducing a catastrophic rift to their hockey club? Why risk the drama?

  There's another angle, too – one that flashes into my mind. It's an image, a memory, of Cal jerking it in the shower. Shit, that's right, I told him all that. I wonder what the hell he thinks of me? I don't want him getting the wrong idea about me or anything.

  I shake my head and go back to thinking only about what this means for hockey.

  “But I'm sure there's other gay guys in the league, right?” I ask optimistically.

  “Of course there are,” he says, still a little short-tempered.

  “Do you know any?”

  “No,” he snaps. “I mean – probably, yeah. But I don't know it. They're all closeted. They're smart enough to lay low and not get caught.”

  I gulp. “Wait. You mean, you ... got caught?”

  He groans. “Yes!”

  “Dude. Cal.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Relax, alright? I know it's not easy. But relax, buddy. Just tell me everything.”

  He takes a breath and seems to get a better hold of himself. “It was the Jets-Hawks game, when I was still with the Jets. After the game, I went out to a club. The team got evidence of me leaving the club with another guy.”

  “That's it?” I laugh. “That's nothing. So what. You could say he was a friend of yours. Just 'deny, deny, deny' – like they say about handling controversies in politics.”

  “It's not just a club, it's a gay club, Vance, and we're kissing.”

  “Okay, well ...” Huh. That'd definitely be harder to deny. “How'd they get the photos anyway? Did they hire a PI or something?”

  “A PI – haha – you'd think so, wouldn't you. But no, Burkhardt did it all on his own. He actually followed me one night. I guess he thought he could catch me breaking curfew ... and he ended up striking gold.”

  “The fuck? Burkhardt did that? That's awful. What kinda captain does that?”

  “Yeah, well, let's just say he didn't like me. And he got what he wanted. Because you should trust me when I say the evidence is damning.”

  I shrug. “Okay then. So it's damning.”

  “So now you know I'm gay.” His lips form a thin, serious line. “What now? What do you think? Do I tell the team? Or do I keep it a secret as long as I can? Meanwhile, the Jets are chasing me all over the ice whispering about how they're gonna out me. I fucking thought they'd do it when we played tonight ... and the way they keep dropping hints to the media? The whole thing is killing me, Ty, and it's not going away anytime soon. It's like I'm being slow-cooked to death. I can't fucking breathe and it just keeps getting hotter and tighter all around me.”

  I gulp and stare at him. Truth is, I don't have a clue what he should do. I've never had to think about it.

  “You see my dilemma?” he asks.

  “Yeh,” I grunt curtly. It sucks to admit, but he's right. This is a bad situation for a pro athlete to be in, no doubt.

  “And now, God only knows what you think of me.” He shakes his head and peers over the building ledge.

  I squint at Cal's figure, half-expecting to see him in some different way, some new light. Does he look gay? No, not really – he just looks like he always did. How do I feel about it? I don't really know. I haven't had time to think about it.

  “Are you sure you're gay?” I ask, but that wasn't how I meant to word it. And as soon as it comes outta my mouth, I hope he doesn't take offense.

  “Yes,” he laughs bitterly. “Believe me, if it was a choice like some people swear it is, I'd choose not to have this fucking thing hanging over me. I'd love to have a 'normal' life, so I could have a normal career and not be judged for who I am.”

  “I guess what I meant to ask was ... how'd you find out? Did you ever sleep with a woman?”

  He rubs his hands together, squeezing his fists anxiously until his knuckles pop. It makes his biceps and forearms bulge hypnotically.

  “I was 13 when I first started to have questions. And yeah, I've been with girls. I had to, just to make sure ...”

  “Huh. How old were you when you ... first got with a guy?”

  He lifts his palms dejectedly. “Why do you even wanna know?”

  “Honestly?” I hesitate. “Honestly, I dunno. I guess I don't know any gay guys. I'm just curious and I'd like to help you if I could ... I want you to feel alright about this, Cal.”

  “It's late,” Cal says, moving towards the roof-top door.

  I put my arm around his belly and stop him. Even through his shirt I can feel those famously toned abs.

  “But we got tomorrow off,” I grin. “And it's beautiful out. C'mon. If you don't tell me now, you'll probably never tell me.”

  He gets a sneaky grin after I say that, and I know it's true. There's a set of lounge chairs behind us. I get behind Callan, push my hands into his back, and gently shove him towards the chairs.

  “C'mon, dude. We're gonna sit here and enjoy this sunrise, and you're gonna get this off your chest already, and you're gonna feel a lot better about it, alright?”

  “God damnit,” he laughs. But he's not fighting back against me – and I know he's gonna tell me.

  27.

  A Secret History

  Callan

  We climb into the lounge chairs, side-by-side, and kick back on the roof of the hotel. I can't believe I haven't been up here before – it's a great spot, the chairs are comfortable, and we've got a great view of the early morning sky.

  The wind picks up as the storm rolls closer. It's blustery and our shirts flap in the wind, but the breeze is a few degrees warmer than the night air, so it's a welcome treat. Feels kind of amazing, actually.

  “I can't believe you really wanna know all this.” I stall for time. I'm still working up the courage to tell him. Only a few friends back home know. And they're all girls. I've never had to tell a guy this about me before.

  “Are you sure you wanna know?” I ask again.

  Vance rolls his eyes. “Yeah, man. How many different ways do I gotta ask?”

  “You're not gonna tell the team anything?”

  “Hell no. That's not for me to tell.”

  Why couldn't he have been my captain instead of Burky? ... none of this would've ever happened.

  “Alright, fine. Here goes.”

  LIKE I SAID, I WAS 13 when I started questioning myself. It's weird how fast it happens. I remember sixth grade – it was like our last year of innocence. All the boys and girls in my class were into things like sports, playing outside, flying kites, looking for rocks, jumping into streams and getting muddy as hell ...

  Then sixth grade is over, and we have our summer vacation, and we come back and it's seventh grade. And suddenly, there's this feeling that everything is starting to change, that the rug is being pulled right out from under you. You dunno what it is, but it's happening whether or not you want it to.

  The girls grow up first. Over that summer, they started developing, growing like weeds – and developing way faster than we were turning into men. And the girls start dressing like it, too.

  But us boys, haha, I don't remember us looking different at all after that summer. We were still the rambunctious, im
mature little shit-heads.

  The girls were suddenly interested in us in a big way. They wanna hold our hands. They wanna go on 'dates,' they wanna write our names in white-out on their backpacks with a little heart around it, they wanna go to school dances. They wanna kiss.

  And I just remember this – this feeling – that us boys weren't actually ready for all the stuff that girls were wanting to do. But we went along with it, right, because we had to. This was like, our training wheels at dating. The girls were interested in us and we weren't crazy about it. They seemed to make everything harder.

  But I went along with the craze. I thought I had to. I was a popular kid and girls wanted me so I did it. I had myself a few girlfriends, and any of them could tell you – I was a terrible boyfriend, man. Totally wild and unpredictable, always wanting to do my own thing and not spend time with them. All I wanted to do was be with my friends.

  Except now, with all of us having girlfriends? It was harder than ever to get all your boys together and hang out with them. Without a girl being around. And then the dynamic changed, we weren't the same, fun-loving, trouble-making group of wild boys. Nick wasn't Nick anymore – he was Nick plus Megan. And Nick plus Megan was totally different than Nick, by himself, the hilarious guy who will do anything for a laugh ...

  Nah, now Nick was a mushy, soft, sensitive guy. A guy I couldn't relate to. Not just Nick – all my friends.

  That was a weird year, honestly. The girls were ahead of us, no doubt. Us boys just pretended like we understood what they were going through, what they wanted to do, the way we felt about each other. But deep down we felt like frauds, playing the role of a suitable boyfriend.

  I thought that feeling would go away in time. And, as time went by and years passed, I was right – in a way. I saw it with my friends. They started to catch up with the girls. They wanted them now like the girls wanted us.

  But I didn't. I kept waiting for the day to come. I almost feared it, too.

  Except ... it didn't come. And then, uh, y'know, I started to develop myself. And I discovered myself. And the things I thought about weren't the things that the other boys talked about. Which, at that point, all they talked about was usually 'giant knockers.'