by Van Barrett
I shrug him off. “I'm working on it, Don-o.”
“Can't have this distraction, Vance. Can't have it.” He skates off, giving me a stare the whole time.
If only he knew.
30.
Just Friends
Callan
All I can think about while I'm spewing last night's drinks all over the ice is ... how embarrassing.
And not just how embarrassing it is to be sprawled out on the ice, vomiting in front of everybody. They're relieved actually – I can tell, because it means I just ended practice. After this, they'll all pat me on the butt and wink at me and say good job back there, Jonesy.
No, I just mean, how embarrassing everything in my life is. It's like one constant, non-stop barrage of fuck-ups and idiotic decisions.
Kudos to Vance for having the balls to come get me this morning. I gotta give him respect, most guys wouldn't be able to do that. At least, that's what I thought at first. But then I realized he was doing the 'act like nothing ever happened' routine.
Maybe he truly doesn't remember? That'd be interesting, wouldn't it ... a reprieve, sort of. Though I guess I'd always be slightly suspicious if he truly forgot or not.
But there's no way. I know he remembers.
After practice, we hit the showers. And everyone is relieved to be going home and go back to sleep.
I take my time. I take an extra long shower, since I didn't get to take one this morning. I'm hoping Vance will hurry up and head home without me. But when I finally get out of the shower and towel off, he's still waiting.
Like he normally would. If things were normal.
“Let's walk back together,” he says.
“Okay,” I gulp. He waits for me to get dressed. And then we leave together.
We walk together down the city sidewalk. We're quiet. I decide it's time to put myself out of my misery.
“Listen,” I say. “About last night. I went way too far.”
“You?” he chuckles. “You didn't do anything. I pushed for it, Cal. As crazy as that is for me to admit.”
“Wha'?” I blurt out breathlessly.
He leans closer while we walk and lowers his voice. “If anything, I'm the one who oughtta be apologizing. So, I'm sorry I put you in that position. I guess I lost control of myself, man. I dunno. I've never felt like that before in my life, Cal – not about another guy anyway.”
“Then ...” I trail off. “What now?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs. “I feel like I've learned a shocking thing about myself, but uh, that's it. Nothing more can happen, dude. We gotta focus on playing hockey. Okay? That's all.”
My heart sinks, but I try to hide it. “Yeah. Duh. Of course.”
If only it were that easy for me. Then none of this would've happened. I'd still be in Winnipeg ...
“I've even got a date tonight,” he says out of nowhere.
My heart sinks even further. “With who?”
“Britt.”
“Who's Britt?”
“Oh, you never met her in person. But you did meet her panties.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, you know – the girl who left her panties in my room.”
I scoff. “Oh. The red thong. Right.”
Classy.
“We have to move on, Cal. Both of us. Like – I dunno what made me do that, last night. But I can't worry about it. I gotta go back to being myself. And you do, too. You've got a secret, and you're right – if it ever came out, it could wreck your career. And uh, if that happens, I don't wanna be seen anywhere near the scene of the crime. Y'know?”
“Wow, thanks,” I mutter. Scene of the crime? Does he mean the death scene of my career? Because if so, wow, talk about a motivating speech. “So that's it, huh.”
“Yeah, dude.” He pauses. “I mean we're still roommates and teammates, and friends too. But, as far as anything else goes ... that's it. I was just curious last night. That's all. Really, it meant nothing.”
“Right. Well ... okay.” I stifle a laugh as we stroll into the hotel. “So what are you gonna do with Britt?”
“I dunno. She's coming over later. We'll do dinner and a movie. Maybe something afterward. We'll see.”
“Cool,” I say icily.
“Yeah.”
“So what are you gonna do today?” Vance asks me as the elevator doors close. I know he's trying to be polite and nice, trying to move on from what we've done. But it's just not that easy for me.
“I think I'm gonna find a new place. Tired of living in this hotel.” I say, hoping I've cut at him.
“Cool,” Vance says icily.
“Yeah.”
“WELP, SEE YA LATER,” I say to Vance as we pass through the hallway. I don't bother to even make eye contact with him. I shut the door behind me. I feel like screaming, but – no, that won't do, because he's right through this wall and would hear me and that'd be even more embarrassing.
Maybe Vance is right. That it's time to move on. I never would've stayed in this hotel all this time if it weren't for him, anyway. And he's right. It's ridiculous – thinking that anything could happen between us.
But still. Even though I'm pissed as hell at him right now? I'm a little surprised ... that he was able to talk about it so ... so clearly. And without acting like he was forced into doing something he didn't want to do. Or blame me for taking advantage of him. Or something like that.
Instead, he seems to even hint that – that he might have liked it. But he can't allow himself to go down that road.
He's either a far stronger man than I am. Or he's lying.
I dunno which it is, but I'm done getting my hopes up.
I look up a few different realtor agencies in the cities. I book an appointment with the one that says they can start showing me places today. Sounds great. The sooner the better.
But before I head out, I need to make a call. I get out my cell phone and dial Grams' number.
“Hey Grams.”
“Callan! I was just thinking about you. How are you?”
“I'm okay.”
“Doesn't sound like it. What happened?”
I sigh. “It's a long story ...”
I tell her about Vance and everything that's gone down. How he defended me all along. How he helped the others on the team accept me. And ... about last night. I spared her the raunchy details, of course. But she's smart. She gets the idea.
She smacks her lips and sighs. “Mm-mm, oh boy.”
“What do you think, Grams?”
“I think he likes you. But ...”
“Yeah, but. There's always a but.”
“But he's in a difficult place, Callan. And so are you. He's right, you've both gotta focus on hockey.”
I hear giggling coming through the wall. I figure it must be Britt's giggles. I heard someone knock on his door a half-hour ago. Must've been her. Her laughs are like a dagger in my heart.
Apparently, Grams can hear the giggling, too. “Is someone in there with you? Are you having a party?”
“No,” I sigh. “I gotta go, Grams. I've got an appointment to look at some apartments in the city.”
“Oh, good, that'll help take your mind off things! Alright, Callan, good luck. And remember, I love you.”
“Love you too Grams.”
I'M JUST LEAVING MY room when I hear Vance's door open, followed by the hum of his low voice and his date's high-pitched, relentless assault of giggles.
Shit, I think, trying to pull my door shut in a hurry. But it's too late. She's spotted me.
“Hey?” Britt giggles, looking my direction but still talking to Vance. “Isn't that ...? Isn't that Callan Jones?!”
“Oh, er, yeah, it is,” Vance chuckles. Then he speaks to me. “Hey, Callan! Come here, I want you to meet a fan.”
I turn and look. Britt's all over him.
“(A fan?)” she giggles at him privately, and jabs Vance in the gut with her elbow.
“(Well?)” he raises his palm at her.
She's a pretty girl. Long, strawberry blonde hair. She's wearing a terribly short mini-skirt and a low-cut shirt that shows both her bare midriff and plenty of cleavage.
Here's your trophy, Vance, I think. Doesn't leave much to the imagination, but there she is.
I swallow my pride down and walk over. Flash my fake-ass smile.
“Hey, I'm Callan.”
“Hey Callan! I know. I love your game. I'm Britt. So nice to meet you.”
Her hand shoots out towards me eagerly. I shake it. She gives my hand a discreet, double pump squeeze.
C'mon, Vance, I think. Sure, she's pretty, and she's obviously got sex appeal. But she's got that look in her eyes that the jersey-chasers get. I dunno how to describe it. It's just obvious what she's after.
Or maybe I'm just a catty bitch. Sigh.
“So you live here too?” Britt asks.
“For now,” I say. “I'm actually on my way out to look at apartments.”
“You should find one for this guy, too,” she giggles and presses her back into Vance's torso. She grabs his arm and wraps it around her front. “Can you believe he's lived here his whole career? How bachelor, right?”
She's a whole head shorter than him, and her head nestles perfectly under his chin. And seeing her fit so snugly against him, like a puzzle piece, makes a rage of jealousy sweep over me. I do my best to hide it, turning my chin upwards and looking away.
“Well, he is the most eligible, right?” I sigh. “Alright, well, you two have fun.” I might have said it, but I certainly didn't mean it.
“Thanks! Good luck!” Britt says in her overly-cheerful manner.
“Bye,” Vance says quietly.
Yeah. Bye.
31.
Meet Jay
Callan
I take a cab and zip across town to the real estate office. I greet the secretary, who tells me I'll be meeting with Jay shortly. Apparently Jay is hurrying back from another showing. In the meantime, I have to fill out some paperwork.
When that's over and done with, I sit patiently. The TV's on the local news in the waiting room. They do a short piece on us, the Hawks, and our playoff series against the Coyotes.
For the first time in forever, they mention me without talking about the trade.
Signs of progress. Maybe.
Then, Jay walks in. He sees me and flashes a smile of disbelief. “Uh?”
I look at him, and I'm overwhelmed by the sensation that I know Jay from somewhere. But how? Maybe he just looks like someone I know.
The secretary butts in. “Jay, this is your new client, Callan Jones.”
“Callan ...!” he says, and something about the way he's acting seems forced and fake. “So nice to meet you.”
I stand up and put out my hand. My mind's still reeling. But once we get close enough, and he grabs my hand, and I stare at him eye-to-eye, I remember.
The Chicago club. Jay is Jason.
“You ready to go?” he asks me.
“I uh, um – yeah.”
“Alright, let's do it!”
He walks me out of the building, telling me all about the places we're gonna look at today. He unlocks his car and we climb in. I'm wondering how he's gonna play this. Discreet? Act like we don't know each other? And with each passing minute, we talk about something else. Soon, I start to get my hopes up that maybe he really doesn't remember me.
He shuttles us off to the first apartment. It's a nice place on Madison St., a few blocks from the arena. Granite counter-tops, plenty of square feet, and a nice balcony with a backyard in case I ever decide to get a dog. The price is do-able, but probably more than I wanna pay. At least it's close to the rink, though.
“What'd you think?” Jay, or Jason, whatever, asks me on the way out.
“It's pretty nice. I'll definitely consider it.”
“That place will go quickly, Mr. Jones ...”
I nod. “Sure.”
We walk back out to his car and get in. He makes a coy comment about the price of that place and sets up the question he really wants to ask me.
“So what is it you do for a living, Mr. Jones?” he asks as he puts on his seat belt.
“Oh, ah, I'm—” I'm searching for a lie?
He whips his head around at me. “Just kidding! I see your name and face all over!”
Fuck. I rub my neck. “Yeah ...”
“So I already know you work in the entertainment industry.”
Welp. That does it. He knows exactly who I am.
I clear my throat. “Alright Jay, let's drop the bullshit and cut to the chase already. 'Cause I'm really not in the mood. Are you mad at me?”
“Now why would I be mad, Callan? Or was it Brad? I can't remember.”
“Ha, yeah, okay,” I reach to unbuckle my seat belt and hop out of his car. Fuck it, I'll hoof it from here.
“I'm kidding I'm kidding I'm kidding!” he squeals. “Yeesh! You sure are sensitive for a guy who makes a living by driving guys nuts on the ice ...”
“I said I'm not in the mood.”
“Alright already.”
He puts the car in drive and off we go. I take a few deep breaths. “I thought you said you weren't a hockey fan, by the way.”
“I wasn't. But then the news kept talking about this new player we traded for. I wished they'd shut the hell up about it – until I saw your face! And then it all made sense, Bra—Callan.”
“Stop doing that, man. I know that you know my name isn't Brad.”
“Yeah, I know that now.”
“Are you sure you're not mad, bro? Because you seem mad.”
“Not mad. It's pretty cool to see you on TV. I tell all my friends that you fucked my brains out once, before you got traded. Crazy thing, though: they don't believe me. They call me a liar. Haha! Can you believe that?”
Ugh. Of course he tells everyone.
“Then please stop rubbing my face in it, man. Yeah, I admit, I gave you a fake name when we hooked up. So what – can't you understand why? Don't you see what's at risk for me?”
“Yes, I understand,” Jason grins. And I don't like his smile. I don't know why but I don't like it. “I understand it perfectly, Callan.”
“Alright.” I turn away from him and roll my eyes.
“... I understand how much it'd hurt your career, too. If anyone ever found out.”
“Wow. Really?” I groan. “Is this what it sounds like? Are you threatening me?”
“No – I'm not threatening you at all. Just ... making a little proposal.”
“And what's that.”
“I told you when we hooked up that I don't normally do stuff like that with guys on the first date. I felt guilty after what we did, alright? I feel like I should get to know you better.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath. “Well here we are, dude. You're getting to know me, right?”
“Not like this, silly. I want a real, actual date.”
“Or else what?”
“I didn't say there's any 'or else.' Quit acting like this is some evil movie plot. God damn, are you sensitive ...” He leans forward, his chin reaching over the steering wheel, and laughs. “Of course, if you denied me, and word about your nightlife got out to the media, well that would be a funny coincidence, wouldn't it?”
“You are so fucked in the head!” I laugh, hiding my fear and pain. “But whatever, man. You think anyone would believe you? Why would any serious journalist run that story?”
“You're right. No 'serious journalist' would run that story! But serious journalism is dead, Callan. And all the blogs, and all the people on Twitter, would eat this story right up, I'm sure. And it'd only grow legs from there. It's obvious how bad people wanna know what really happened with your trade.”
I fold my arms. God damn it. I hate to admit it, but he's right.
So what? Do I placate him? Do I actually go out on a date with this guy? Who knows where he'll stop. He'll always hold this over me, just like the Jets. His list of demands will grow.
I might have to end up spending the rest of my life with this freakin' guy, just to keep my 'secret' safe.
And what if he really did expose me – what's the worst that could happen? Maybe he blows the lid off this, and it becomes the sports story of the year. Everyone finds out the reason for my trade was because I got caught hooking up with him. He'd corroborate Burkhardt's story, and there'd be no way I could 'deny deny deny' my way out of it, like Vance said.
And then I'd be outed. And I wouldn't have to run away anymore. And the team, the league as a whole, could accept me or reject me. But it'd finally be out of my hands.
My blood starts to boil. The pressure in my head gets higher and higher and I'm frankly furious that I'm sitting in a car with a guy trying to blackmail me for love. I mean what the fuck?
His car rolls to a stop at a traffic light.
“Y'know what?” I say as I unbuckle my seat belt. “I don't negotiate with terrorists. See ya, dude.”
“Wait!” he yells after me.
But I won't wait. I disappear into the crowd on the sidewalk and scurry off.
He can tell the world if he wants. Fuck the world – I'm done caring about their gossip and prejudices. I'm tired of running away from myself. It's time to focus on playing hockey, like Grams said. Like I used to.
32.
Round One
Tyler
After I take Britt out to a movie and dinner, it's time to call it a night. Britt's nice enough, but I'm not sure why I called her up in the first place. I guess to prove that I was still indeed a 'man.' Who is turned on by breasts and vaginas. Or something like that.
But if that was the idea, the whole plan backfired. Because this girl is throwing herself at me and I can't say it has any effect on me but making me less interested. I look at her lips, painted bright red, and something inside me screams no, no, no.
I look at her lips, and truth be told, all I can think about are Callan's lips. Those full, pillowy lips, the color of a pink rose blossom. How he surprised me with their embrace in the heat of the moment – and how disappointed I was when he didn't give me more.