Skating Through

by Jennifer Cosgrove

  Ben took the opportunity to drag Marcus away from his parents and the TV show he was still trying to watch. “You want something to drink or anything?”

  “Nah, I’m good. You?”

  Ben turned toward the stairs in answer. He was eager to have some time for just the two of them, but he didn’t know what that meant. They’d been going out for only two days, and it still didn’t feel quite real.

  He closed the door behind Marcus, kicked his shoes off, and went to set up his laptop. While Marcus wandered around the room, Ben took a quick look to make sure there wasn’t any dirty underwear or anything lying about and was relieved everything seemed to have made it into the hamper.

  “So you’ve played hockey for a long time, right?”

  Ben looked up from where he was sitting on the bed, and Marcus had a puck in his hand. It had a peeling piece of tape wrapped around the edge with a date written in black marker. It was the puck from his very first goal.

  “Yeah. It’s kind of the only thing I’m good at.” Ben shrugged. “And I love playing.”

  Marcus put the puck back down on the shelf where he’d found it. “There’s more to you than just hockey. You know that, right?” He shook his head. “You’re a great player, and it’s awesome to see you do your thing, but you? You’re more.” Marcus rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I just wanted you to know that.”

  Ben stared at him. He didn’t know what to say to all that. So, of course, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. “You don’t even know me that well.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Marcus stepped closer to him until he was bracketed by Ben’s knees, and ran his hand through Ben’s hair. “I know you’re a nice guy that would do anything for your friends.” Ben leaned into the touch. “I know you’re one hell of a hockey player because I’ve seen you play. You give everything out there on the ice, and I think you’ve got a chance to go places with it.” Marcus knelt in front of him so they were eye to eye. “And I know you are one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

  “I’m not—” Ben started but cut off when Marcus kissed him.

  It started out soft and sweet, but quickly grew more heated. He shoved his laptop out of the way and scooted back onto the bed, pulling Marcus up with him with a hand balled in the soft blue of his shirt. He heard two thumps as Marcus’s boots hit the floor, and Ben suddenly found himself on his back with Marcus half on top of him.

  He lost himself to the moment and let his hands roam, finding warm skin under the back of Marcus’s shirt with one hand and burying the other in fading blue hair. Ben’s shirt had been pushed up in his rush, and Marcus’s hand was flat on his stomach, fingertips hot on his skin. It was fantastic and overwhelming all at the same time. He gentled his mouth on Marcus’s, pulling away to press kisses to his jaw. They both broke off at the same time, breathing hard.

  Marcus was flushed all the way down his neck, and Ben spared a wild thought as to how far it went. His parents were downstairs, and he just couldn’t—not like that.

  “I, um—”

  Marcus kissed him again but smoothed his shirt down at the same time. “Yeah, I know. Not the greatest timing, right?”

  “Not really.” Ben wondered when it would be the right time. Soon, he hoped, though it was hard to imagine.

  Marcus rose up on his elbow and kissed Ben’s nose, which made Ben look at him a little cross-eyed. “So, you want to watch that episode or not?”

  Ben threw his head back and laughed, wrapping his arms around Marcus again, the moment passed but not forgotten.

  BEN GOT TO the rink just before warm up started. Usually, he’d have been the first one there besides Coach and their equipment manager who’d been working with the team since they were freshmen. But he’d waited until the last moment to leave the house, his mom having to uncharacteristically hurry him along, her brow furrowed with the worry he was causing her.

  But now, he had to face the team, and he was procrastinating like a boss, avoiding the inevitable first walk into the locker room, where all eyes would turn to him. He was expecting some of the guys to maybe look at him like they didn’t trust him anymore, but he hoped against hope he was wrong.

  He walked in with his head held high, taking his gear to the stall with LEWIS above it in block letters. The chatter died down when he came in but started up again after a few seconds. That was reassuring.

  Smithy, in just his helmet and Under Armour, clapped him on the shoulder as he started taking out his gear. He leaned in to speak in a low voice, which Ben found surprisingly tactful, if not touching.

  “Most of the other guys are cool with everything about, well, you know.” Ben rolled his eyes, smiling. His smile faded at Smithy’s next words. “The ones that aren’t”—he shrugged his big shoulders—“know they have to answer to me.”

  “Shit, you don’t have to do that.” Ben’s stomach knotted, and he made himself not look around to see who was glaring at him in disgust. “Really, you don’t—”

  “On the ice in five minutes!” Coach Jordan’s voice boomed through the locker room, and Ben jumped. He had his under shorts on under his sweats so it was easy enough to strip them off and start pulling skates and pads on. This was all automatic, so it was easy to keep talking to Smithy.

  “Smithy,” Ben said as he tightened his laces. “Seriously. I don’t want you defending my honor or anything. I can take care of myself.”

  Smithy shook his head. “That’s the thing, Cap. With us around, you don’t have to. Let us take care of this part. There’ll be plenty more for you to do.”

  It was surprisingly insightful. And Ben couldn’t argue with him. Didn’t want to, really.

  “Thanks, Smithy.”

  He hurried to finish getting his gear on, finally pulling his jersey over his head while Smithy did the same beside him.

  “Anytime, Cap.”

  THE WARM-UP skate was familiar and grounding. It had taken a little while for him to finally get over trying to figure out who was only there because they didn’t want to pick a fight with Smithy and who was there because they didn’t mind playing hockey with a guy who had a boyfriend. But he eventually pushed it out of his mind and concentrated on what he was doing.

  People started to arrive while they were warming up, and Ben looked around to see where his family was going to sit. They usually sat close enough to the home bench that he could pick out his mom’s cheering. She was really loud.

  He skated close to the glass, looking up into the seats, and spotted his Gran waving at him. He raised his gloved hand at her and then almost swallowed his tongue when he noticed Marcus next to her. Ryan usually sat with Ben’s parents, so Ben wasn’t surprised to see him and Rachel there. But Marcus. Gran had said she wanted to meet him, but seeing it in person was still a little weird. She tapped Marcus on the shoulder and pointed toward the ice, and then Marcus waved at him too, a huge smile on his face.

  Marcus stood, and if Ben hadn’t been in the middle of warming up, he probably would have hopped the boards and gone to him. Marcus was wearing one of Ben’s old jerseys: LEWIS and 42 plainly visible on the back as he turned. It was the best thing he’d ever seen and all he’d ever wanted. It felt so much better than he ever thought it would.

  Marcus was wearing his name and his number for the whole world to see. There was no way they were going to lose.

  THEY WON.

  Not only did they win, but Ben managed to pull off his first hat trick of the season. The last goal had been in the last minute of the third period, and he’d put it right over the goalie’s right shoulder. The stands went crazy, as they’d run the clock down. Most of the team had practically jumped on top of him, hugs and fist bumps all around. He noticed a few of the guys standing back, but they were definitely the odd men out. It wasn’t that hard to ignore them as everyone lined up to shake hands with the other team.

  He skated over and bumped helmets with Espy, who grinned at him. “Awesome hatty, Cap.”

  “
Thanks, man.”

  The other guys followed after, making their way off the ice toward the locker room. Ben was the last one through the gate, and he paused by the side of the stands as Marcus moved through the crowd toward him. Ben held his glove under his arm and took his helmet off one-handed, his sweaty hair matted to his head.

  It took a few seconds, but Marcus was finally there and looking up at him, Ben even taller than usual in his skates. His grin matched Ben’s own.

  “That was awesome. I’m so proud of you.” He grabbed a handful of Ben’s blue and silver jersey to pull him down and kiss him, messy and fantastic. He didn’t seem to mind how sweaty Ben was, which made him damn near perfect.

  People were staring at them and Ben didn’t care. He was happy and normal. He got to have what everyone else had. Still smiling, he stepped back and Marcus let him go. “I’ve got to—”

  “Yeah, go on. I’ll see you after.”

  Ben leaned down and kissed him one more time.

  Marcus laughed. “Seriously, go. I’ll be here.”

  “Okay.” Ben was giddy and made himself go to the locker room where he was greeted with excited clapping and catcalls. He blushed and made his way to his stall with what felt like a permanent grin on his face. It was so different from how uneasy he’d felt about three or so hours ago, and it hit him, suddenly, that this was going to work. He could have this.

  Coach Jordan walked in, and the noise simmered down to a dull roar.

  “Good game, boys. It’s still early, so don’t get too full of yourselves, all right?” They all laughed. “And I’ve got something for one of you right here.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a puck, and tossed it over to Ben. “Nice hatty, Cap. Keep ’em coming.” Ben caught it and flushed as the majority of the locker room erupted into cheers. “Get some rest and be ready to go Monday. Check your crap in and get out of here, you know the drill.”

  There was another cheer, and everyone started stripping out of their sweaty pads.

  Ben hurried to be one of the first in the showers, mostly because he wanted to get the hell out of there and see his family and friends. Marcus especially. And Ryan and Rachel. But he also didn’t want to see which guys wouldn’t want him in there, the ones who would think he was automatically going to lust after them because he happened to like boys.

  He wasn’t going to let them bring down his high. Not tonight. He’d deal with that bullshit later. Tonight, he was going to celebrate.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THINGS CHANGED ONCE the shock wore off that the captain of the hockey team was gay. And had a boyfriend. For the most part, no one bothered them, at least overtly. But he knew some people weren’t happy about it. One guy had stopped showing up for practice, and Jordan Roberts had been forced by his parents to quit the team. Jordie made sure to tell him it wasn’t his choice, and while Ben appreciated that, he still felt incredibly guilty. The other guy could go screw himself.

  John Richards, who’d once found himself on the receiving end of Marcus’s fist, had tried to start crap with Marcus again, but this time, it put him on the wrong side of two defensemen. Ben managed to put a stop to it before it got ugly, but he was more than a little pleased that Richards wouldn’t even dare be in the same room as Marcus anymore.

  It helped that the hockey team had practically adopted Marcus. It was something he found endlessly amusing and a little odd.

  “So, I have a question,” Marcus said, and Ben glanced over at him, their joined hands swinging between them. Marcus had a perplexed look on his face that Ben found cuter than he probably should. He also had a feeling he might know what Marcus was about to ask.

  “Shoot.”

  They were walking through the parking lot, post-game, after Marcus had waited for Ben to shower and change. They’d lost, but it had been a close one, both teams fighting hard for the winning goal. Ben had taken a little bit longer than usual to get out of the locker room, taking the time to reassure Espy that he’d done his best—that last goal wasn’t his fault.

  “What’s up with Smithy and his helmet?” Marcus asked, and when Ben laughed, he bumped his shoulder. “Seriously! Why are you laughing?”

  Ben was laughing so hard he had to stop in the middle of the parking lot. He took a deep breath to try to get it together but made the mistake of looking at Marcus, which sent him off giggling again. Marcus pulled his hand away and crossed his arms over his chest, a smile at Ben’s hysterics attempting to fight its way through the scowl.

  Ben stepped over to him and wrapped his arms around Marcus’s stiff shoulders, pressing his face into his hair. “Did Smithy put his helmet on you?”

  “Yes.” The pout was evident in his voice. Marcus relented and unfolded his arms, putting a hand on Ben’s hip and playing with the hem of his T-shirt. He hesitated and then pulled back far enough so he could look up into Ben’s face. “Why?”

  “It means he likes you.” The skepticism on Marcus’s face was almost enough to set Ben off again. “He’s weird about his helmet.”

  “Weird?”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” He hurried to follow up with, “Nothing bad, promise. He means well, and now you won’t be able to get rid of him.” Ben shrugged, steering them toward the car again, his arm slung around Marcus’s neck. “Hockey players are superstitious freaks.”

  Marcus pressed a quick kiss to Ben’s cheek. “What have I gotten myself into?”

  Ben’s stomach fluttered at the simple fondness in Marcus’s voice, and he didn’t try to hide the goofy smile that spread across his face.

  AS FOR THE other teams, word had gotten around, as expected. Ben was shocked the first time he’d lined up to go out onto the ice at an opposing team’s rink, only to have Coach Jordan come storming up to him and say, “Don’t look at the stands. I’m taking care of it.”

  He looked at the stands. At the signs. He looked and immediately wished he hadn’t. The worst part was he couldn’t tell if they were the work of some dumb kids or if adults had looked at them and thought, Yeah, that’s right. Fags need to just die.

  He stared until Smithy grabbed him by the arm and steered him back toward the locker room. “Let Coach take care of it.”

  Ben was trying to take the high road. He was the captain and had to set an example. He should have known better.

  It was just after the start of the second period when it happened.

  He chased the puck where it had been dumped into the corner by Holtsy and was completely focused on beating the other player to it when he was hit by what felt like a small truck. Ben heard Smithy’s shout, but it was too late to get out of the way. The other player, a defensemen who probably outweighed him by about thirty pounds, checked him against the boards so hard it knocked the breath out of him.

  “Fucking queer” was spat at Ben, low enough for the ref not to hear, and he gave the other boy an elbow to get him to back off. The other boy, his name still a mystery, pushed him again. “You can run but you can’t hide.”

  Smithy got between them, his greater height making the other player back down for the moment, and Ben skated away, head held high. He could do that; he didn’t have to stoop to their level.

  A few minutes later and it happened again. The player didn’t even wait to crush him against the boards. He waited until Ben had the puck and hit him with a low shoulder that was almost a tackle, and very illegal. Ben went down, stunned for a second, when the other player spit on him. That was more than enough.

  Ben pulled himself up, and before he knew what was happening, his gloves were on the ice, and he grabbed a double handful of the other player’s jersey. His name was Wilson from the letters Ben had in his hands. He’d never, ever gotten into a fight on the ice, or off of it for that matter, but it felt good to spin Wilson around—to see the surprise in his eyes for a split second before he dragged him down onto the ice.

  It was more of a wrestling match at that point, but in the end, Ben’s helmet was knocked off
, and he’d managed to get a hit or two in on Wilson’s ribs. Wilson smacked him in the nose in his desperation to get Ben off him, but Ben wasn’t going to let up, even as blood ran down his chin.

  Smithy got there before the ref and dragged Ben up by the back of his jersey, wrapping his arms around him as soon as he got him up on his feet. “Enough, man. Enough.”

  Ben had never felt that much rage at another human being before, and it scared him a little. He ended up getting a major penalty, as did Wilson.

  Coach raised holy hell about everything from the signs in the stands to his player being spit on and ended up getting most of the opposing team placed under review by the discipline committee. After a few suspensions, and one outright banning, the signs and comments at games stopped.

  There were some players who were either too brave or too stupid on the ice for their own good, but the other guys made it a point to make sure they knew it wouldn’t be tolerated.

  THE NAME-CALLING and dirty hits had been expected. What Ben hadn’t expected were the silent indications of “Me too,” told to him through eye contact or grim smiles.

  It had been a good game. It was the second of two away games, and Ben was exhausted but happy because they’d managed a close win. He’d just finished packing up his gear and was walking out of the visitor’s locker room when he almost ran into one of the opposing players.

  “Sorry.” Ben tugged the strap back onto his shoulder where it had slipped off and started to step around the other guy.

  Who shuffled awkwardly in the exact same direction as Ben, effectively blocking his way. They both laughed and Ben tried again. This time, he moved to the side, only to have the other boy stop him with a hand on his elbow. Ben fought the urge to tense up, not wanting to seem like he was afraid. He was definitely on guard. He looked down at where the boy was holding him, and the hand was snatched back as though he hadn’t meant to touch him.