by Van Barrett
Maybe, once the job is done, we can do that stuff again ... but for now?
It's late and I'm alone in bed, the night before our flight back to Winnipeg tomorrow. If we win tomorrow's game, we win the Cup, after all ...
But I'm not sleeping. I can't. I'm awake, and I'm jerking it to some recent memories.
“Fuck yeah!” I groan loudly, pulling at my cock and thrusting into my fist. The headboard bangs against the wall.
There's a knock on the door a few minutes later.
Shit, I mutter under my breath.
“Who is it?”
“It's me.” The voice is Tyler's.
Shit. “Okay, uh, coming.”
I get up, still naked, and hide my boner behind the door when I answer. “What's up, dude?”
He shrugs. “Seeing what you're up to.”
“Vance, man, it's late! Past midnight! Go to bed!”
I try to shut the door. But he stops it with a stiff-arm and pushes it open. Then he slinks through it.
“Yeah, it is late. And I can't sleep 'cause all I can hear is your headboard banging into my wall ...”
He slinks through the half-open door.
“Fuck,” I groan, standing naked before him. My cock sticks straight out. No use hiding it.
Vance spies it and smiles. “I knew it.” He shuts the door behind him.
“Dude, Vance,” I plead. “You know as well as I do ...”
But my voice trails off, the words going higher and higher, as he crouches between my legs. He takes my balls into his hands and rubs. He licks my cock like a damned lollipop, giving me long, sloppy tongue strokes from the base to the tip. Until I'm gasping and falling against the door, begging for mercy.
“Please Vance, no, please ...”
“I feel like I haven't had this in so long,” Vance sighs, ignoring me completely. He looks ravenous, staring at my cock with lust in his eyes, like he can only stop himself for so long.
“It's been four days, dude!” I stammer.
“Yeah. Four fucking days! That's a long time, Cal.”
“You're worse than I am!” I laugh.
Eyeing my cock, he shrugs. “Feel free to stop me at any time, then.”
But he doesn't give me a chance before tempting me. His lips lock around my glans and he pushes down. His tongue swirls all around my length, and his hot, luscious cheeks wrap around my cock as he slides me deeper.
God damn he's getting good at that.
“Fuck Tyler, fuck ...”
51.
Close 'Em Out
Tyler
We head back to Winnipeg for Game 5. If we win tonight, we win the Cup.
We know it's gonna be a battle. It's hard to close out a series at an opponent's hometown rink – if nothing else, they know in their hearts and minds that they're going to lose the series. But teams often manage to regroup enough so that they don't lose the series at home.
So we know perfectly well what we're up against: a determined team making a last stand.
And we have our chances, but the Hockey Gods aren't on our side tonight. We catch a few bad breaks – pucks deflecting off of defensemen and finding their way into our net, a few of our shots hitting posts, a few bad penalties that hurt us – and we're trailing 3-0 heading into the third period.
Cal manages to score half-way through the third, but it's too little, too late, and we can't get a rally going before the game ends.
We're disappointed, but not surprised. And we're not down on our luck. Coach Stevens sums it all up for us with a speech in the dressing room after the game.
“Alright, boys, we lost this battle but we ain't lost the war yet. We knew they were gonna play hard tonight – that they might even empty the tank just to win tonight. We knew they'd to their damnedest to make sure their fans didn't have to see us celebrate with the Cup. We're heading back to Chicago, up 3 games to 2, all we gotta do is win at home and close 'em out. We got this, boys. Don't get down on yourselves and we've got it wrapped up.”
With a day off between games, we travel back to Chicago that night and wait. We're antsy and we can't wait to get out there.
AT LAST THE NIGHT COMES. We're fired up, but nerves are strong again. As great of an opportunity as we have tonight, we know that we can't afford to lose it. If we lose it, we have to head back to Winnipeg for a Game 7.
So we attack the Jets with everything we've got. The beginning is jittery. Both teams trade chances. But we score the first goal, and the sense that this really is our Cup comes flooding back to us. And the life force just drains out of the Jets after that first goal.
Coach was right – the Jets are gassed. They gave everything they had left when we played our last game. As soon we score that first goal, the Jets know they're done. They're already defeated mentally – all we have to do is make sure it stays that way.
We score two more times to end the first period. And that'll be all. The Jets will clamp down defensively so they don't get laughed out of this game – but it comes at the cost of their offense. They wave the white flag, and the clock ticks down to those last few minutes.
With a minute left to play, us Hawks are on the bench, barely able to contain our excitement. The crowd has been standing and applauding for five minutes straight, chanting, “We want the Cup!”
I can't handle the emotion. It's been such a crazy year. Scratch that – career. I'm bent over on the bench, my head almost between my legs, hyperventilating. Tears run down my cheeks. The boys sitting on the bench around me slap me on the back with their gloves.
“We did it, Cap!”
“Vance! Can you believe this shit!”
And, of course, Callan – who sits next to me, grinning from ear-to-ear, taking it all in. He bends down, his head next to mine, and whispers.
“We're really gonna do it, Ty. We really did it. You and me.”
“Yeah,” I laugh through tears. “You and me, bud.”
The horn sounds. The crowd goes nuts. Me and the boys jump over the boards and rush at Brickley, where the main celebration takes place. We throw our sticks into the air and throw our gloves, all our equipment comes flying off, and we jump in a dog-pile on our goaltender.
We're lost in that mass of bodies. All of us become one – one giddy, howling, squealing mass of grown-ass men. Call it whatever you want. It's unlike anything I'd ever experienced.
But at last we have to pull ourselves apart – because the Jets are patiently waiting to shake our hands. Their sentence for losing is to watch us celebrate, staring at us with utter sadness and misery in their eyes.
I know how that feels.
We line up and shake hands, compliment them on a hard-fought series. Burkhardt is first in line. I shake his hand and pat his shoulder.
“Good series, Burky.”
He shakes his head at me and sighs. “Fuck, man. I gotta give you credit. You did what you had to for the win.”
I pat his shoulder and shake the next hand.
It's Fresno. My old line mate for all those years. His brow is heavy with sadness, his cheeks welling. I really feel awful for poor Fresno – being on the losing side twice now.
“Fuck, Fresno,” I frown at him. “I'm sorry man. I wish you could've been here with us.”
“Ahhh, calisse, don't worry about me. I'm happy for you and the boys, Vance. Enjoy your moment.”
After we shake hands with all the Jets, the league commissioner comes out. He has the Conn Smythe with him. The trophy for the Playoffs MVP, and the trophy I once 'disrespected.'
The commissioner speaks. “With 18 goals and 20 assists ... the Conn Smythe award goes to ... Callan Jones!”
The crowd bursts into a cheer for Callan. He starts to skate off to receive the trophy, but I pull at him and stop him for a second.
“Pst. Don't forget to pick it up.”
He laughs. “I won't.”
Callan picks his trophy up and skates it around the rink, soaking in his fanfare.
And then it's time f
or the real reward.
The Stanley Cup is carried out next. The crowd cheers at the sight of the iconic silver trophy. The commissioner gives a speech, one I can't really pay attention to, because I'm so caught up in the moment. But I hear him when he calls my name, as captain of the Hawks, to receive the Cup.
I skate up, receive the Cup, and hoist it over my head to a crowd's roar. Cameras flash. I kiss the Cup, the silver refreshingly cool on my lips. I skate it around the rink before it's time to pass it off. I hand it to Callan.
“Yeeeeeah!” he yells, raising the 35-pound trophy into the air and skating in a long, looping line around the rink. The crowd goes crazy for him.
Soon, the on-ice festivities have ended, and we're back in the dressing room. It's been over an hour since the game ended, but we haven't taken a single thing off yet. Jerseys, skates, our sweaty gear – everything stays on. We fill that Cup with champagne and take turns drinking out of it. Nelson passes around a box of cigars and soon the room is clouded with smoke.
The hours will pass until it's early in the morning, but we won't dare leave that dressing room. The media folk will hang around in the hallway outside, listening to us scream and holler, waiting to get a glimpse inside the room when somebody happens to go through the door. The whole world waits for us outside – but right now, it's just us, and we don't wanna leave each other.
And we'll be up until it's far, far too late, and we're far too wasted on champagne, raucously telling stories and rehashing and reliving every battle, every fight, every goal that led us here. We'll soak in glory for as long as we can – until we're too drunk and tired to go on and we're fighting back heavy eyelids – because it's a once in a lifetime thing. This moment, with these guys, only comes once – and then it's gone forever. Only a memory that could never do this moment justice, could never recapture this feeling.
We're a band of brothers, as close a bond as a group of men can share. Amid the good vibes, the excited buzz, Cal and I might forget for a moment – and we might sit too close to each other in that smoky dressing room. But nobody bats an eye that me and Callan are 'different.' Nobody casts us out or tries to shame us. Nobody cares that we sit close, our arms around each other.
And with everybody partying around us, I think ... everything's gonna be alright.
52.
The Cup Comes to Toronto
Callan
Less than two weeks later.
Every player on the team gets a day with the Cup – it's one of hockey's proudest traditions. We all draw straws to figure out who gets the Cup. Once it's your day, you've got 24 hours to do whatever the heck you want with the Cup.
Phil Bourque once threw the Cup in Mario Lemieux's pool to see if it'd float or sink. (It sank, and it sank pretty quickly apparently – and a big ol' dent had to be repaired afterward.)
Ed Olczyk fed a Kentucky Derby Champion horse out of the Cup.
Kris Draper's infant daughter, placed inside the chalice, actually pooped in the Cup. (Sorry for the gross image. Believe me, I had to will myself not to think of that one when I was sipping champagne out of it during the dressing room party ... blargh.)
I drew my turn with the Cup before Tyler got his. So what was I gonna do with it?
I opted for something quiet and not so dramatic. I took it back home to Toronto. Tyler came with me. He met Grams, and she met the Cup. Ever see an 80 year old woman kiss the Cup? It's adorable, I tell ya.
Then I took it to the outdoor rink where I grew up playing. Since it's summer, rollerblades take the place of ice skates. All the local kids came out to play a game and get a chance to see the Cup in person. Tyler and I played with 'em. It was a blast.
But none of the kids wanted to touch the Cup – 'cause that's considered a curse. If you touch the Cup you'll never win it, the legend goes. So the kids got as close as they could to it but they didn't dare touch.
It was a pretty cool moment to be a part of, with all those kids looking up at me and Tyler. We told 'em they could be whatever they wanted to be, as long as they worked hard and wanted it. And we told them not to be discouraged by what other people have to say about you – don't let other people define you who are. Who knows? Maybe someday one of those kids will return to that park carrying the Cup him or herself. I hope so.
Later, after we were wrapped up with the kids, me and Tyler headed out with the Cup to Toronto Harbour. We rented a sailboat and took it out into the bay and looked over the city skyline, which was lit bright orange by the setting Sun.
“Ever think you'd be looking at the CN Tower in a sailboat, with your arm around the Cup?” Tyler asks me.
My finger traces over all the imprint of the names on the Cup, stamped into the bands of silver. It's hard to believe my name is there, among all these legends.
“Hell no!” I laugh. My forearm is around his neck, and I pull him closer. “And I definitely didn't think I'd be here with my arm around you, either.”
He gets a familiar look in his eyes – one I've since learned means that he's up to no good.
“Uh oh ... what is it, Ty?”
His smoldering eyes narrow. “I guess you probably never thought this would happen, either.”
He slides out of his seat and slithers between my legs.
“Dude!” I laugh, checking nervously to see if any boats are nearby. It's clear – for now. “Someone might see us.”
“Nobody's gonna see us.” He grins and pulls at my shorts. I let 'em go, lifting my butt off the seat so he can yank my shorts and boxers down.
I watch, my arm around the Cup, as he takes my half-hard cock into his mouth and sucks it, pulls it between his cheeks until it quickly lengthens and grows.
“Wow,” I sigh, one hand holding onto Tyler's hair as his head bobs up and down in my lap; my other arm is wrapped around the Stanley Cup. “This is awesome.”
53.
Cup Rings
Tyler
My day with the Cup is a week after Cal's. Cal's day with the Cup was pretty fun, and it was really fun to see all those local kids get a chance to see the trophy in person. But my day is gonna be a lot more of a low-key, private affair.
We fly out to my parent's home in Colorado, and they meet Cal for the first time. I had a lot of 'splainin' to do – although they weren't upset about me coming out of the closet, they couldn't believe I'd never told them that I'd been in the closet all along.
“I can't believe my own son felt like he couldn't tell me that!” my Mom shrieks with sorrow. She looks so shameful and guilty. I feel awful.
Cal elbows me and whispers. “Tell her the truth, man!”
“Ha, yeah,” I say, scratching my neck anxiously. “About that.”
Mom and Dad both look at me, waiting for my answer.
“The truth is, guys, I didn't realize it until I met Cal. I kinda stretched the truth a bit in that press conference, but I stand by what I said. A lot of athletes are in the closet and are way too afraid to come out. But, since us, a few have! I don't have to tell you that, you've seen the news.”
“Yeah,” Dad nods. “Hey. I'm proud of you, alright? Both of ya. You guys were fantastic. Plus you're both clearly a success and nobody can argue that.”
“Thanks, Dad.” We all hug each other.
Of course, they wanted to hear the story of how I got so close to Cal ... so I had to tell 'em everything. Err, minus the saucy details, of course. But being on the road with another guy, you grow close to him. And if he grows close to you, and there's an openness there, and a willingness ... you never know. Love can find a way.
“D'aww,” Mom and Dad say. I'm so embarrassed I hide my face in my hands, but Cal just cracks up and slaps my back with a hearty laugh.
“He's so bashful, isn't he?” Cal asks my parents.
“Sure is. Always has been,” Mom says.
“He's one driven but shy sonofabitch,” Dad says. Mom whacks his shoulder, giving him the eye over that 'bitch' part.
“I didn't mean it like that!”
Dad protests.
Stanley Cup party with family heart-to-heart conversations. Heh – maybe not the highlight of our day with the Cup, but it was sweet regardless.
A few hours later, Mom and Dad have all our friends and family come by the house for something of a lunch party with barbecue. Cal gets to meet all the people I grew up with, which is pretty cool.
But when mid-afternoon comes, it's time for the real event I've planned. Me and Cal say bye to everybody and take off with the Cup – we're going hiking in the Rockies and we're bringing the Cup with us to the top.
“You're so lucky,” Cal gushes. “Your parents are so nice and awesome, man.”
“Yeah? I guess so.”
“Trust me. They're great.”
“I'm glad you like 'em. They like you, too.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
We go up a trail I used to frequent as a kid – Dad always took me there in the summers when I needed a getaway from hockey. At the top is a clearing and a fantastic view of Boulder from the mountains. I raise the Cup and hold it over my head, looking over Boulder.
Then I give it to Cal. He starts to pick it up, but a sudden rattling that circles the bowl grabs his attention and makes him stop.
“Whoa, what the heck? There's something in here.”
He peers into the Cup. Then he looks up at me, one brow tweaked upward.
“No way,” he says under his breath.
“Yes way,” I chuckle and drop on my knee.
Cal pulls out the gold ring inside the bowl and looks at it, then looks at me. “Ty! What the hell!”
“Will you marry me, Cal?”
He bursts into laughter, shaking his head with disbelief. I'm waiting for my answer for what feels like an eternity. My heart pounds at my chest like a jack-hammer, and I'm not totally sure I've got this in the bag ...
“Fuck yeah, I will!”